All is Well
by Dannemund
Summary: Emily is in a bad way after Annapolis, trying to booze her way through life in the wastes and revisiting all her terrible choices in the past. Interesting things happen as she tries to exist while drinking herself into stupidity; is there hope for this Lone Wanderer? (Rated M for mature; swearing, sexual content, violence. Sequel to MIO GIR.) Contains Butch and Charon, also.
1. In Which Emily Goes Over the Edge

Note: As noted, this is the third in the series, starting with Make it Okay and Get it Right. If you've ever talked to me you know I don't really care for Emily; I promise you that I am not doing this on purpose. I am legitimately trying to get her back to a better place than she is. She's just... really, _really_ messed up right now.

Characters will be added as they pop up, but so far it's scripted to have six character viewpoints. I also don't enjoy having three stories open right now, but I write what I can when I can. I try to respond to all reviews (I might not notice them right away so be patient), so if you have any thoughts be sure to shoot them at me, hell even a PM is fine.

Sexual content warning right off the bat because everything is gonna get worse as you read on. **_Much_** worse.

* * *

He had just fallen asleep when the banging on the door started. Butch groaned to himself, laying on his stomach in the little room off of the Muddy Rudder, and flicked at his Pip-Boy to check the time. Three thirty-two in the morning.

Emily was back _again._

Every day for the last week he'd been fending her off, trying to keep her hands off his ass and his booze. It wasn't like she couldn't afford her own―his tasted better, she would say, winking at him before guzzling it down. This was the second time she'd come to his door in the middle of the night, trying to get into his room and probably into his pants. Last time he'd ignored her for thirty minutes and found her passed out on the floor in front of the door, after she hollered herself out.

It wasn't that he didn't _care._ Or that he didn't like a quickie, every now and then. Any other time, Butch might have been fine with giving her a roll. But she'd been so damn _annoying_ lately, and after seeing her desperate behavior he didn't know he wanted to have a go at her. Stupid woman needed to _calm the hell_ _down_ and sober up―

Coming from _him,_ he knew that meant something.

 _"Buuuuutch!"_ she yelled, slurring her words. "Let me in!"

If he didn't try to make her go away, he would never get any sleep. Butch pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes, trying to get the world to come into focus. After a moment he moved to the door and spun the lock, pulling it open.

She poured herself into the room and immediately latched onto him, grabbing at his hips and landing on her knees. Shining blue eyes looked up at him, a mischievous grin on her face. She was sweating and flushed and half-naked, having lost her jacket and t-shirt the day before. Damned if he knew where she left 'em. She'd been walking around in her undershirt like nothing was wrong.

It was just another example of how _strange_ she'd been acting. He stared down at her for a moment, then sighed. "You can't keep doin' this, nosebleed."

She laughed happily. "Butch, baby, you _know_ I love you, right?" she said, running thin fingers along his hips and to his front. He slapped at her hands as they moved to unzip him.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" he snapped. She kept trying to go for the zipper, until he grabbed her hands and pulled her up up eye-level. "Knock it off!"

Well, not quite eye-level―Emily hadn't been the tallest kid in the Vault, that honor went to Wally, but Butch always did have an inch or two on her. Made him feel better about himself when the other girls shot up like rockets and he somehow stopped growing.

He stared at her, seeing her smiling face and the blood that crept under her skin. She was really drunk. Her head slowly spun around in a circle and she went limp under his hands. _"Butch..."_ she moaned, wiggling her wrists under his hands. "Mmm!"

That was disturbing. He dropped her and she crumpled to the floor like a piece of paper, slowly and gracefully. Emily was up on her knees in a flash, belying her drunken state, and had her hands back on his pants again.

 _"Seriously?!"_ he groaned, fighting the urge to slap her. She'd probably like that, too. Man, Emily'd always been fun, up for a roll, always been willing to try new things, but being out here in the wastes... she'd turned into some kind of crazy. Butch shoved the door shut, then grabbed her around a shoulder and dropped her onto the cot.

"Why are you―" he started.

She laughed and leaned back onto the wall, closing her eyes and running a hand across her body in a decidedly sexy move. "C'mon, Butch," she slurred, moving her hands down to her pants. "I missed _you,_ didn't you miss me?"

 _" 'Course_ I did," he said, rolling his eyes. "But you're driving me batty, doing this."

Emily got up on the bed on her knees and leaned onto his chest, rubbing her forehead on his jacket. "Maybe you'd like to take me for a ride then," she said. "Rev my engine."

"Dammit, nosebleed―" He jerked back in surprise as she had him out of his pants in the sneakiest move he'd ever seen her pull. _"Stop!"_

Emily moved down between them and had her mouth wrapped around him. She was a hell of a lot quicker than he'd expected, and her tongue moved in a way he'd never thought possible. Butch groaned and laid his hands on the back of her head, winding his fingers through her hair. _"Shit,"_ he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. Damn, that felt _amazing―_

Her head bobbed under his hands, her tongue teasing him up, and her hands moved to his hips, where she anchored herself onto him. He didn't want to enjoy it―but she didn't give him much _choice,_ sucking his dick like she was. It was over in a minute, embarrassing him as she pulled away from him and wiped her chin, her eyes closed and a tiny smile across her face.

"Emily―" he said, pushing himself back into his pants and pulling up the zipper. _"What the hell is wrong with you?"_

She sat back on the cot and leaned her head against the wall again, keeping her eyes closed and muttering something he couldn't hear. She went still, passed out on the cot. He was too relaxed to argue. God, it had been a _long_ time since he'd had a blowjob like that. From Emily, too―she hadn't sucked him off since they were seventeen and she was the biggest slut in the Vault.

He'd been easy pickings then, too. Emily used to brag that she could get any man she wanted, except Butch, because she didn't have to try. He always gave into her. Probably why she'd come after him tonight.

Butch grumbled under his breath and laid her down onto the cot, a tangle of arms and legs. She was heavier than she looked, even with the bit of weight she had gained. He laid down behind her on the cot and tried to get comfortable enough to sleep, even if there wasn't enough room for the both of them.

Maybe she'd be sober enough in the morning, he could tell her to buzz off and leave him the hell alone. He _doubted_ it, though.

Butch groaned to himself and closed his eyes.

* * *

It was seven fifty-eight when he opened his eyes again and found himself alone in the bed. She had moved out of the bed without him noticing and left behind a bottle of whiskey, tilted against the far wall. It wasn't much of an apology. Butch popped the cap and drank it, anyway.

When he made his way out into the Rudder, he saw her sitting with Trinnie, laughing and flipping her hand through her hair. Trinnie had a look of disgust on her face―that was normal, that bitch _never_ seemed happy. Emily had three bottles of booze on the table in front of her and poured a shot out for Trinnie as he sauntered over.

"C'mon, nosebleed," he said, grabbing her shoulder. Emily grinned and winked at Trinnie, and followed him up to the top deck, without a word.

The air was cleaner up top; Butch shut the bulkhead door and watched Emily walk out to the edge, stretching. She took a deep breath and patted her stomach, then turned to face him. "What's up, Butch?" she asked, smiling innocently.

"What's _up?"_ he repeated, incredulously. "You freakin' came into my room last night and tried to _rape_ me!"

"You liked it just fine. Didn't hear you _complaining."_ She put a hand on her hip and stared him down.

Yeah, he didn't complain, he knew it. Felt great, she'd been working on her skills since he saw her last. Didn't make it right for her to do _that,_ though. "Look, nosebleed―"

"How many times did I tell you to stop calling me that!" Emily's hand clenched into a fist at her side.

"Whatever," Butch said. He shook his head at her. "You can't keep trying to get into my pants, not here. I got a _reputation_ and all. People'll think―"

Emily laughed at him. "What!" she cried, holding her sides. "Oh, my God. Butch is putting on airs?"

He stared at her. Waited for her to stop laughing. Emily wiped her face and sighed in relief, and looked back at him with shining eyes. Jesus, she was _still_ drunk? Had she even stopped drinking at all? He didn't think she _had,_ since she showed up in the Muddy Rudder about a week ago. It wasn't like her to act the alcoholic, something was up.

"What the hell is going _on_ with you, Emily?" he asked, a little softer, a little more sympathetic. "You know why I drink. Why are _you?"_

She narrowed her eyes a little, pressed her mouth together, and her hands shook. _"Nothing,"_ she answered, defensively. Her words came faster, more forceful. "Nothing at all. I'm bored. Don't got nothing to do."

"Yeah, _right,"_ he muttered. "What about all that shit your dad was doin'?"

"Pssh," she said, waving a hand at him. "That's been done for like, two _years."_

"So what the hell you been up to, since?" He caught her hand as she tilted a little too far with the motion, pushing her back up to a stand. "How come you always have money to drink?"

"I'm rich!" Emily yelled, laughing loudly. "I'm rich _as fuck,_ Butch."

He groaned and rolled his eyes when she applied herself to his chest again, leaning her ear onto his shoulder and running a hand up and down his jacket. "Why you stealing my booze, then?" His hand stopped hers from going near his crotch again. "And why you attacking me, nosebleed― _stop!"_

"I'm _lonely,"_ she whined, quietly. "Ain't got no one to hang with, anymore."

Butch grunted and smacked her hand away again, grabbing her around the wrist and holding it up and away. "Go be lonely at home, stupid. Quit trying to get into my pants."

"I'm not going home," she mumbled, into his chest. "Ain't nothing for me, _there._ ...You're _here."_

She was all of a sudden a lot less gropey and a lot more sad, wrapping her arm around his back and hugging him to her, stifling a sob against his jacket. Butch sighed, released her wrist, and hugged her back. "Think you had some bad shit happen, nosebleed," he muttered. "Drinkin' prolly ain't gonna help."

"Won't," she agreed. _"But..."_

"Yeah, _I know,"_ he said. It would make the pain go away, for a little while. But never forever. Was better to be out of it, than into it, better to not feel the sting. He oughta know, he'd been drinking himself stupid since they was teenagers.

"Butch..." she moaned, squeezing him. "I don't know _what_ to do―"

"Well, whatever happened hasn't killed you," he said. She was quiet for a while. "You _should_ go home."

"Come with me," she whispered. "I can't― _can't_ be alone, right now."

"Are you _kiddin'_ me―" He tried to pry her off of him and failed. "Are you serious, nosebleed?"

"I've been trying to get you to notice me all week," she whined. Butch looked down as she looked up, tear-filled blues on him, her face flushed and drunkenly blinking at him.

"Dammit," he said, looking up and away. "You shoulda just _asked,_ stupid."

"...Will you come with me, Butch?"

Butch sighed, and rubbed her shoulder. "Where we going?" he asked, staring out over the ruins, watching the sun slowly climbing into the sky. Didn't want to leave. Emily had always been good to him, though. Felt wrong to let her fall like this. He owed her a lot from back in the day, covering for his ass when he was caught out by Vault Security. Her reputation had kept him out of the cell too many times to let her down, now.

"Megaton," she said. "Real close to the Vault."

"Yeah, _alright,"_ he muttered. "...You'd better go find some clothes, though."

Bet her daddy was real proud to see her turn out like that, he thought, as she wiped her face and led him down to the Marketplace. _Real_ fuckin' _proud._


	2. In Which Emily is Remembered

Note: Content warning again, as I said.

* * *

It took her all of two days to get him under her spell again. Classic Emily, really.

She took him down into the Metros―said she couldn't afford to go overland, it was too dangerous, something about some assholes called Talon Company. They spent the first day bickering over ammo and armor and other things to keep themselves alive with, like how she refused to share any of her massive amount of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes with him. No wonder she was _fat,_ if that was all she was eating.

It all came to a head when she'd binged on a bunch of cakes and downed a bottle of booze, and threw up not twenty minutes later. Butch held her hair up as she spewed into one of the nasty toliets in the Metro, and tried not to laugh at her. Didn't think she would appreciate it. Might snap and shoot him with that weird rifle she had across her back.

Her sickness did remind him, though. Of better days.

He remembered how she'd hooked up with him the very first time. Back in the Vault, before all that bad shit happened with her dad leaving. Before she got all cranky and sad... before she turned into a whiskey-soaked rag-doll.

* * *

They were both down on the reactor level. Emily was sitting on the railing that wrapped around some fancy equipment he'd never bother to learn the name of, him sprawled out in a dark corner where no one would notice him getting drunk. She'd seen him hiding in the shadows and sat there watching, waiting for him to say something.

She was there was because Jonas invited her down. She never told him why. Jonas never showed, anyway. Maybe he came to his senses, maybe he found out Emily wasn't alone and sneaked off somewhere else.

Emily waited for half an hour before she shifted her position and dropped down from the railing. She walked over to his corner, and paused for a moment before speaking. "You gonna be here a while?" she asked, looking down at him.

"Long as I want to," he muttered, staring up at her. She was too cute for him, he thought. Too innocent and too _polished._ He'd never have a chance at that.

He liked watching her in class, watching her play with her hair and be a suck-up to the Crotch. Was about the only time he could afford to watch her, since he'd had to hide a boner every time he thought about her. In class he had books he could use to hide it, and the Crotch thought he was being studious.

One of these days he was gonna do something _real_ dumb, though. Maybe _today._ He looked away from her and took a deep breath.

"What are you drinking?" she asked, all cutesy. "Is it alcohol? Can I have some?"

Butch sputtered out a disbelieving laugh. "What the hell would some goody like _you_ want with booze?"

She shrugged. "I've never had any, before. Don't have anything to do, right now. Jonas didn't show, and I'm bored."

His first thought had been she was gonna turn him in the minute he gave her the bottle, but she kept watching him with those funny blue eyes and he caved. Maybe if he got her drunk, he could at least cop a feel. _Damn,_ he was real dumb when it came to dames.

His second thought was why the hell was Jonas meeting her there, but he ignored that because he couldn't think all that straight. He was already buzzed.

"You sell me out, I'll cut you," he muttered, tossing her the whiskey. He didn't mean it. He wasn't that nasty. Didn't even like punching girls no more, wasn't any fun. Got him into too much trouble.

"Now why would I do _that,_ Butch?" she asked, catching it and sniffing at the top. "God, that smells awful. Why the heck would you drink that?"

"It ain't _exactly_ for the taste," he snorted. She made a face at the smell and looked into the bottle with a dubious look on her face.

"You're too damn goody two shoes for this shit," he griped. "Give it back, nosebleed." His hand went out to grab the bottle away from her.

There was a fire lit under her, then. Her eyes actually flashed at him in the dark of the room, and she tipped the bottle up to her lips. When she finally came up for air, Butch was staring at her with his mouth open, barely remembering to shut it before she saw him goggling at her.

 _Damn!_ Almost half the goddamn bottle in one go! She was either stupid or damn _tough,_ pulling a stunt like that. She didn't even cough or nothing when she let go of it, handing it over to him. He stashed it inside a pocket as she slumped down beside him and stared at him.

"Did you come down here just to drink?" she asked, lacing her fingers together over her knees. She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees, a curious look on her face.

"No one bothers me, down here," he said. Shit, he had to lift his own leg to hide his excitement at having her so near. Fuckin' _embarrassing,_ that was. Maybe she knew she did it, maybe she didn't, but she didn't seem to care if she did. He debated on letting her see, but that was pushing it. He knew better.

"Just wondered, is all," she said, staring at him.

They sat for a few minutes without talking. Butch wondered why Jonas had been coming down to see her on the reactor level. He shouldn't need to sneak away to see her―the guy worked in the clinic with her dad, she probably could talk to him at any time she wanted―but maybe he was sneaking around with her for _other_ reasons.

Maybe the same reasons Butch himself was glad to be alone with her and wishing he could afford to try something. That made him disgusted with the man; Emily was his boss' daughter and only fifteen years old, like Butch. _Damn pervert..._ maybe Butch could cash in on that.

Emily gradually relaxed and then laughed headily, putting her palm to her forehead. "Oh, my _God,"_ she said, laughing, _"oh, my God,_ Butch, I know _why_ you drink―" She giggled like a stupid kid, her cheeks flushing with blood.

"Oh, fuck _you,"_ he muttered, looking away. "Don't need your damn pity." Everyone in the stupid Vault knew about his mother getting drunk like she did. Not everyone knew about the _other_ things that went on. Maybe Emily might, she could get onto her dad's computer in the clinic and read the medical reports. Butch looked away in shame.

Emily put her legs under her and leaned over him, getting real close to his face, so close he could feel her breath on his skin. "I get _why_ you'd drink that nasty stuff," she said, laughing again, moving closer to him. She was almost on top of him before he realized what she was doing, on her knees and messing with her top.

 _"Jesus,"_ he said, pushing himself backward into the wall. "The _hell_ are you _doing―"_

One of her hands tugged at her jumpsuit zipper, pulling it down, while the other moved up his neck to his cheek. "Aw, c'mon, Butch," she said. "I _know_ you like me. Maybe... I like you _back."_

"Shit," he said, and his hands were on her hips, moving her closer, pulling one of her legs over his. Emily pulled her arms out of her top and he saw she wasn't wearing an undershirt― _shit,_ he'd dreamed about _that!_ ―and she laid a kiss on him that he would always remember.

God, she was _hot._ Messy kisses all over his face, whiskey breath in his nose, her tiny moans as he rubbed her ass through the jumpsuit, it was damn near perfect. Emily began to unbutton his jacket, pressing herself into him with little thrusts. _Goddamn,_ he was _lucky―_

"Stop, stop," he said, all of a sudden. Emily moved backward, looking down at him. Her mouth was parted, panting and flushed and ready to go. Butch moved his hands up to her ribs and stared at her chest, then her face, his mouth gone dry all of a sudden.

Did she come down to the reactor level to have sex with _Jonas?_ Shit, that was more _fucked up_ than he'd thought―and maybe he didn't want her like that. Maybe he liked his imaginary version of her better, all innocent and cute.

"What is it," she said, breathing out the words more than speaking them.

"You―" his mouth dropped open. "You can't be _serious_ about this, nosebleed."

 _"Butch,"_ she groaned. "If I didn't want to, would I do this?" She ran a hand down his cheek and kissed him, hard.

"I―I guess not," he mumbled. "Just seems too good to be true."

"Maybe you should shut up and _enjoy_ it," she murmured, and kissed him on the mouth again.

Well, _hell..._ Butch didn't want to waste another lonely boner. Had too many to count because of her. Maybe it _was_ time for a little payback.

The afternoon ended with her being pushed into the wall as he screwed her hard, her moans in his ears and his groaning in hers. Working up a sweat in the middle of the warm room was easy, but they were dripping wet by the time they were done.

She was so damn _easy,_ he'd never thought it would happen like that. She moaned his name over and over, asked him to fuck her good, ran her hands through her hair, and pulled his when she came around his dick, pushing her breasts up into his chest and making all sorts of noise. She intimidated _the hell_ out of him, being so intense.

"You keep that up, someone might come bother us," he muttered, leaning into her as he spent himself inside of her. _"Fuck,_ nosebleed, what if―"

"Shut up, Butch," she moaned, sliding down on the wall. He caught her and pulled her back up, hearing her moan again as he shifted position. "God, that was _so_ good. _Thank_ you."

"Don't think it's gonna happen again," Butch told her, lowering her gently to the floor as he pulled away.

"Mmm," she said, kissing him on the tip of his nose. "We'll _see."_

* * *

Emily pried herself off of the toliet and sat back, rubbing her eyes and groaning. "Alright, Butch, you can have the damn snack cakes," she said. "I'm sick of 'em."

"Are they _poisoned,_ because, shit―"

She laughed stupidly at him. "No, they're _not_ poison. I can't eat them anymore. Had too many, already." She shoved her pack across the floor from him and sucked snot up into her nose. She'd been crying. _Shit._

Butch grabbed the pack and moved the cakes into his own, remembering their past. She watched him without seeing, her eyes glazed over in the dim light of the dirty bathroom. After a moment she closed them and started breathing evenly, snoring a little.

When had he stopped wanting to mess with her? He remembered she'd taken the G.O.A.T. and gotten assigned to the clinic with her dad. Never picked on him for having been a damn hairdresser―never said he was one, either, she was cool with him being a barber. But they'd never really run in the same circles, and she was all busy in the clinic after that, doing her own thing. Working with her dad and Jonas, and he didn't remember seeing her after that until her dad left.

Butch sighed and pushed his hair out of his eyes, staring at her. Wondered what the hell was up with her, that she let herself go so far. Emily had never been _that_ messed up before―when he'd talked to her after Amata opened the Vault, she'd seemed perfectly fine.

But she'd had that weirdo freak walking around behind her. What was that ugly-ass ghoul's name? ...Charon.

So where the hell was _he?_


	3. In Which Emily Comes Begging

Note: Jericho sex, ya'll, I warned you it was gonna get worse. _Hnnnghhhh_

* * *

He watched her when she walked through the gates, her eyes dead to the world, feet shuffling, shoulders hunched inward. She'd been broken by the wastes, just like any other fucker who walked into Megaton. The only difference was that this _wasn't_ just any other fucker. This was Emily, and Emily had been _fucked up._

It was the funniest thing he'd seen in a hell of a long time.

It took her a little while, after she came back to Megaton, to even pretend she noticed him. Jericho was outside looking down on the dumpy little shit heap of a town. Imagining, like he always did, that he was in charge. It was a much nicer thought than the reality; that he was a old ex-raider asshole who was only tolerated because he helped defend the town from them current raider assholes out in the elementary school. Hadn't been too many attacks, lately. He didn't think too much about that; didn't care as long as he still got _paid._

Emily walked up the path to her shack, unlocked it, and went inside without so much as glancing at anyone. Jericho figured she would have at least gone up to say hello to Moira, but she went straight home. She wasn't trailing the fucking zombie anymore; some other Vault baby in a ridiculous leather jacket and a stupid poofy hairstyle walked behind her. Jericho watched him swaggering, and shook his head at him.

After that shit with her goddamn ghoul shooting his bed, he'd had to go crawling up to Moira and beg her to replace the mattress. Had to get Walter to look at his door and fix it, and then he'd gone to Doc Church. He couldn't _afford_ that shit, he was on a fixed fucking income! Had to beg it out in service to Moira. Spent a long week being the crazy bitch's new test subject for her fucking painful "experiments" just to have the caps to pay off what he owed.

And he _still_ couldn't hear out of his left side. Goddamn stupid _fucking_ zombie.

Jericho wondered where he'd gone, for a moment or two. Woulda made him real happy to have a second chance to take that asshat down. This new asshat she had... hell, if _that_ was his competition, it looked like he didn't have to do much other than breathe on the kid. Looked a real fucking pushover, short and tubby like Emily was.

Shit, she'd gained a little weight. Looked good on her, though. Made her less like a baby-face and more like a woman. And hell, she _was_ a woman. She didn't look as much like a little girl, like she had before. Carried that extra weight all _nicely._

Jericho liked it. Every time he saw her, he liked it _more._ Maybe it was because he'd had a little taste, and she put her cookies back up on the fucking shelf; maybe it was just him being a damn horny bastard. Didn't know, didn't _care._ He wanted those _goddamn cookies._

Watched her in and out of her house, grinning at her, and she didn't show any consideration to him until she was out for the fifth time, the first without her little Vault boyfriend. She walked past him at the railing and "accidentally" dropped a bottle of water she was holding.

"You back for a long stay?" he asked, eyeing up her ass. Yeah, that leather was almost popping open with her cheek meat. Damn, she looked good.

"Prob'ly," she slurred, pocketing the bottle. "See y'at Mori-Moriarty's."

Emily walked off, wobbling a little. Left him smiling triumphantly, wondering why the hell she was drunk when it wasn't even noon. _He_ didn't even start drinking until the sun went down. Some bad shit happened to her out there, and he was gonna take advantage of that.

Hah, the wastes really fucked her up, lately. And later, he was gonna fuck her up against his shack wall.

Life was _good_ for an old ex-raider asshole, today.

* * *

She came back, begging. He laughed in her face before he let her into his shack.

He hadn't even had time to get up to Moriarty's, it was barely sundown. He'd been drinking a little before he went up there. That fucking zombie Gob was charging him an asshole tax, he knew it. Fuck that decaying little _shit._ That was why he had to go buy from the traders outside for a decent price.

But he had what he wanted right here, right now. Didn't need to go to the bar when he could fuck Emily stupid all goddamn night. Jericho grinned and watched her walk past him. Hell, she was still drunk. It was goddamn _satisfying,_ finally having her right where he wanted her.

She stood in the middle of the room, looking around as he slammed the door shut and locked it. She didn't do anything at all until he ran a hand along her side and stuck his hand down her pants. She was wearing some merc outfit, baring her midriff, and he could just tell he was gonna have a _lot_ of fun. He moved his mouth up to her ear and said, "I told you you'd come back _begging."_

She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a cuff to her cheek. "You listen, you little _slut,"_ he said, reveling in the power.

"Jer―" she started, and he hit her again, spinning her around to face him.

"You do what I _say_ or you ain't gettin' _shit,"_ he hissed in her face. She bowed her head and nodded, so that he could barely tell. "You gonna be a _good_ little bitch?"

"I will," she mumbled, moaning as he ran a hand up under her outfit and grabbed hold of her breast, pinching a nipple. Emily pressed her mouth together and threw her head back, like she did before. She was easy to tell. It wasn't even like he had to try.

He felt her up under her vest, grinding his hips into her, pushing her back against the wall. Emily didn't fight him, just laid her hands onto his shoulders and leaned into him as he sucked on her neck, making little sharp gasping noises.

Wasn't as much fun when _he_ was doing all the fucking work. She'd come back asking for it, and here he was trying to get her bothered. _She_ oughta be the one doing that. Jericho moved away, dropping her like a hot rock, and sneered at her. It was her turn to turn him on, to make him want it. Fuck, he already _did,_ but she needed the lesson in humility.

"Strip," he growled in her ear. Jericho sat down and and enjoyed having her at his beck and call.

Starting with her leather vest, she began to peel off her clothes. She was dirty, smudged up and dusty from traveling. He wasn't too clean, either, but he didn't fucking care. Heavy breasts popped out of her top, tempting him to stop her. He grinned and adjusted himself in his seat, staring up at her.

She was a natural brunette, too. Jericho didn't care how much hair she had. Fuck, he was too excited to make her work for it, now. He grabbed her hips and pulled her to him, laying his nose against her bellybutton. "Girl, you are _just_ what I fucking _need,"_ he muttered.

Emily wobbled a little. "Jericho―"

"Shut the _fuck_ up," he said, pushing her backward and digging his fingers into her skin. She moaned and bit her lip. "Yeah, you fuckin' _want_ it, don't you. Stop complainin', you _stupid bitch."_

He stood abruptly and grabbed her by the hair, pushing her forward over the table and holding her down. With one hand, he undid his pants and pulled himself out, debating―but she was trying to move herself up from the table and he had to show her _what_ before he could get to the real fun stuff.

Jericho raised a hand and slapped her ass, hard, making her jump. He bent over her and chuckled into her ear, pushing her into the surface. "You better fuckin' _behave,"_ he snarled.

She moaned, loudly. He slapped her ass again, watched the fat jiggling. _Hell yeah._

With one hand, he directed himself inside her and fucked her good, right across the table. Emily gasped and reached out to grab the edges, making crying noises, her face smashed into the tabletop by his grip on her hair. Shit―she felt amazingly good, so fucking _tight._ How did she have such a good pussy, if she was such a _whore?_

Jericho laughed to himself, slowing his pace. He was a little out of breath from excitement. And all those damn cigarettes he smoked. His hand went to her hip and held on, sinking himself repeatedly into her. The crying changed to heady moans, increasing in volume as he continued his assault on her.

"Oh, _fuck,"_ he groaned. Wasn't gonna be able to last much longer. That wasn't any good. Jericho shoved himself all the way into her and paused, breathing heavily, leaning over her on the table and biting her on the shoulder, hard. She gasped in pain and turned those big blues on him, looking scared. He laughed meanly, staring down at her.

"Come on, bitch... tell me _what_ you want," he hissed in her ear.

Emily swallowed and blinked, her face flushed and sweating. He enjoyed the stupid look on her face, how fucking frightened she was. What did she _expect,_ she'd been teasing him since she moved into that place across the walk. He grinned as she opened her mouth and panted out what he wanted to hear.

 _"F-fuck me,"_ she gasped out, moaning. "Oh, God, _please,_ fuck me―"

"Yeah, _that's_ what I wanna hear." Jericho pulled out and grinned wider when he heard her whimper. "How about some screaming, _huh?"_ He slammed back inside.

Emily groaned, her hands twitching on the table, pressing her lips together and closing her eyes. She was a lot of fun, like this. Not as fun as him trying to break her before, when he'd been pulled off by that fucking monster of hers. He laughed to himself. It didn't even fucking _matter_ now. He had her under him, and she wasn't going _nowhere._

Jericho lifted her head from the table and smacked it back down, laying into her hard. Her moans turned back to crying, as he grunted and groaned and muttered to himself. Yeah, she didn't know _what_ she'd gotten herself into. _Stupid little bitch._

Her ass jiggled as he slammed into her, pushing her into the edge of the table. _"Ahhnnn!"_ she moaned, moving her hips up into the air, meeting his movement. "Jeric― _ahhnnn!"_

She was coming around him. Oh, _shit,_ he was coming, too. He leaned his full weight on to her head and thrust into her as violently as he could, hearing her making pained noises through her moans. _"Yeah,_ that's it," he muttered, and let out a relieved sigh, shuddering with effort. Goddamn, she was a _good_ lay. He hadn't done something that exciting for a _long_ fucking time.

Emily went limp over the table as he pulled away from her, sliding off the edge and onto the floor into a heap, panting and flushed. He stood, staring down at her, and smirked.

"Get on the fuckin' bed," he said. "We ain't _done_ yet."

She moved onto all fours and paused, unsteady on her hands. Her eyes closed and she breathed out shakily, but managed to crawl around to the bed, pulling herself up onto it. Emily collapsed onto the mattress and passed out.

 _Stupid fucking bitch._ Jericho put his dick away and finished off the bottle of vodka he'd been working on, watching her sleep, leaning against the wall.

No, he wasn't _done_ with her, not after all that shit she put him through, before. Not after her goddamn zombie shot at him and not after her flaunting that rotten bastard in his face, walking around all full of herself because she was fucking a monster.

She lied and told him she _hadn't_ fucked that bastard, too.

If she wanted a monster, she was gonna _get_ one. He narrowed his eyes at her, took a long drink, and threw the bottle away.

He was gonna make her _hurt,_ before he was done.


	4. In Which Emily Loses Everything

Note: _Hnnnghhh._ More content warning. Also "interesting things."

* * *

She was bleeding _all over_ the goddamn place, after he slammed her face into the wall. Stupid bitch always did have weak skin. Last time he'd tried to fuck her, she busted her scalp on the wall outside his house. Her fucking zombie had pulled him off of her and was gonna chuck his ass over the railing.

She'd stopped him, then. _Shouldn't have,_ Jericho thought. She wouldn't be such a goddamn _mess_ right now!

He lifted her by the back of her hair again and looked at the mark across her nose. It was broken, didn't look the same as it had. Started to swell up already, looked _real_ nasty.

All that shit out there, putting her in such a bad way... He grinned and shook his head at her. She was too damn sympathetic for her own good. Why she would _ever_ want to come begging to him... She was such a _fucking_ _slut._

"You _earned_ that one," he told her, as she cried. "I told you we wasn't finished."

 _"You assho―"_ she yelled. He lifted a fist in a threatening manner and she threw her arms up to cover her face. _"Stop,_ Jericho!"

"Tit for _fuckin'_ tat," Jericho said, dropping her to the mattress. "And _beggars_ can't be choosers, bitch." He got dressed and stared down at her, a bloodied and shivering lump on his mattress. He'd _destroyed_ the bitch.

The nail marks on his back stung a little, but they were fucking worth it. He'd rode her so _hard_ she wasn't gonna walk straight for a while, so goddamn _long_ she was all rubbery by the time he pulled himself off of her body. She had a couple nice blue marks deepening on her hips in addition to her newly broken nose and some real long scrapes on her breasts from him pushing her into the corrugated metal. Hell, she was lucky she didn't have any fucking bruises on the _inside!_

He'd dicked her good, and she fucking _loved_ it. She came every fucking time. Stupid bitch didn't know what to _think._ Hah, he wouldn't be surprised if he _had_ fucked her brains right out of her pretty little head. Probably do her some good, being dicked completely dumb.

"Get up and get dressed," he told her. "Quit bleeding on my goddamn mattress."

She'd sobered up since she knocked on the door. Was regretting her decision, now. He could tell, she wasn't scared anymore. Still had that stupid Emily look on her face, that big blue-eyed invitation to abuse her like she wanted it _bad._ Innocent fucking slut, thought she could play with the big boys. She wouldn't know shit about _nothing,_ 'til he was done with her.

Jericho walked across the room and sat down, lighting a cigarette. He _wasn't_ fucking done. She wasn't drunk no more, though. Made it hard to keep her from fighting back. Too bad he was out of booze, he coulda got her drunk again and had some more fun.

His eyes flicked over to the boards sitting against the shelf by the door, grinning to himself. Maybe a _lot_ more fun, depending on how much pain she could take. _Bet it's a lot,_ he thought, coughing a little. Bet she could take a couple of smacks to the ass with a two-by-four. She needed a couple of slaps to the face with one.

The lights above his head flickered as he took a drag on the cigarette. Emily was making pained noises, the bed frame creaking as she got up. "Fucking _asshole,"_ she muttered.

He leaned back in the chair. "Yeah," he agreed, chuckling. He'd done that, too. A sly look spread across his face. It was too good, too much fun. Everything was just too much. He felt worn out, might as well take a break.

She moved away from the bed and picked up her underwear, pulling it on. She stood there, glaring at him. "What?" he asked, throwing his hands out. "You got what you _wanted,_ you stupid little slut."

 _"You―"_ she seethed at him, snatching up her outfit.

"Don't fucking blame _me_ if _you_ weren't up for it," he told her. "You _asked_ for it, and you _got_ it." She'd gotten it good, too. He grinned, showing his broken teeth. He'd gotten them cookies. _Good_ fucking _cookies!_ Needed some _milk_ to go with it, hah! "You know what, you still ain't showed me how _sorry_ you are. You and your fuckin' zombie parading about like you owned the fuckin' place. Lettin' him _bust_ my fuckin' door in." He sneered at her. "No one ever told me they was _sorry_ for beatin' my face in, _neither."_

The lights flickered again as Emily wiped her blood off of her face, sucking snot up into her head. "Whatever," she said, angrily.

"Lucky for _you,"_ Jericho said, coughing again, "I'm in a good mood. I'll do ya one more time, if you want. But you gotta ask _nice_ like."

She glared at him again, pulling her shirt right-side out, blood dripping from her nose. "No, _thank_ you," she muttered, pulling a little too hard and ripping the fabric of her undershirt.

Ah, it had been too much fucking fun, for him to stay mad. He leaned his head against the wall and enjoyed the cigarette, watching her. Emily kept trying to get dressed, wobbling on her feet. _Hell **fucking** yeah._

A noise outside caught his attention. A loud thump and metal creaking. Jericho narrowed his eyes at the door, put out his cigarette with two fingers. Emily was swearing and pulling her clothes apart as he jerked the door open, staring out into the darkness.

Lights were out on the walkway. Wasn't unusual for that to happen; the power lines were all jerry-rigged onto poles around the houses. Shit didn't work perfect on a good day. He grumbled and stepped out of the door, arms crossed over his chest, looking up at the metal pole that held the lines. His eyes traveled down the line to the corner of his house and back out to the junction.

The pole was tilting, leaning toward Emily's shack. A muffled explosion sounded, as he stared. The walkway trembled under his boots, making him take an involuntary step forward to gain his balance. What the _fuck_ was that? Sounded like it was outside the wall―

Emily poked her head out, feeling the shivering under her feet. "The hell is going on," she mumbled, blinking rapidly.

Everything that happened next was over in a few minutes, but felt like a lot longer. Dust billowed up from around the back end of the walk, loud creaking and groaning noises coming over the air. The pole tilted down and came to a rest onto Emily's roof, then shuddered and shied off of the roof and toward the walk in front of him. The lines held it suspended above the walk, thank fuck, otherwise they would have been electrocuted. Jericho started moving backward.

Metal on metal sounds began coming from under the walk, along with the downed pole, caused him to swear and back up faster, and all of a sudden a louder explosion overtook the air. The walk shook under their feet, groaning as the metal shimmied like a pool of water. Jericho grabbed the door frame and held on, his other hand moving to grab his weapon. Emily shrieked, flailing as she grabbed his shoulder for balance.

The walk went sideways, tilting down toward the center of town. Dust flew everywhere, getting in their eyes and mouths. He heard Emily coughing, saw her covering her face with her undershirt and moving out of the house in a stumble, staring out at her house.

An incredibly loud scraping noise sounded, and the screaming began. The house where Emily lived tilted with the walk toward the ground, then began to slide right off the walk.

 _"What in the fuck―"_ Jericho yelled.

 _"BUTCH!"_ Emily screamed, slipping as she tried to run toward the house. Jericho caught her arm with one hand and pulled her back to him as the walkway snapped in half with the weight of the building, sharp edges slicing up into the air. It sheared from the rest of the walk, leaving his house untouched and shuddering with the snap.

"Think your little boyfriend is _fucked!"_ he grinned, watching the destruction. It was a goddamn amazing sight, her house falling right off the edge into the crater. _Fucking_ awesome! And thank _fuck_ it wasn't his house!

Emily shrieked and slapped at him, trying to get him to let her go. Jericho didn't budge, one hand on his door frame and the other wrapped around her still-naked upper arm. She hadn't even managed to get her clothes on past her underwear, and she was the same color as the ground inside the town. She shook with emotion as he held her. Jericho was briefly distracted by the sight of her tits covered in dust. Tit for tat, for sure, he grinned wider. She had a nice pair. Looked even nicer when he'd had them smashed against the wall.

She tried to pry his fingers from her, yelling something he couldn't hear, as the noise got louder. "Don't be fuckin' _stupid,"_ he yelled, watching as her house tumbled down onto the Brass Lantern. Hah, fuck that place! Andy was gonna shit bricks! Jericho roared with laughter. Served him right for being such a goddamn asshat all his fucking life!

 _"Let me go, you rotten fuck!"_ Emily shrieked, starting to cough and spit out dust. The dust began to settle, laying itself onto everything, as her house kept sliding. Jericho looked up at the saloon, saw the crowd gathering up there. The grin never left his face as shouts came over the air. Oh, this was just fucking amazing. A great end to a fucking _incredible_ day!

Someone was yelling underneath the house as it kept falling, turning onto its side and landing with a painfully loud scraping noise against the roof of the clinic and the Brass Lantern. The roof was resting square on that fucking bomb down in town.

Lucky the damn thing was dead, now. Thanks to Emily. Jericho shot her a look. She was still shrieking and trying to pry his fingers from her arm.

"C'mon, bitch," he hollered, dragging Emily along the walk. The metal had stopped moving, exposing a gaping hole in the earth under the shack. It collapsed in on itself, under the weight of the loose dirt and rock, as he edged her past. Whatever the fuck happened there, it wasn't happening no more. Jericho jerked her arm forward and shoved her up over the pipe near the entrance to town.

Emily hadn't stopped shrieking since he grabbed her, suddenly stopped as she landed on the ground. She coughed and spat, wheezing. Jericho turned back to look at the carnage, whistling in appreciation.

 _"Christ Almighty,"_ he heard the sheriff say, coming up behind them. "You lot alright?"

 _"Butch―"_ Emily breathed out, her voice tight.

"The _hell―"_ Simms said. "Emily―"

Jericho turned back around to see the black man handing Emily his trench coat, looking down at the mess her house made. Emily took it and shrugged it over her shoulders. She glared at Jericho as she closed up the front, then started wobbling her way down toward her house, obviously agitated.

What the _hell_ happened? He glanced up at the sheriff, then back to the caved-in hole in the ground. The beams that held the shack up on the side of the crater were snapped, a shit ton of rocks and dirt ejected from the explosion.

A hand was sticking up out of the dirt, twitching. Jericho climbed up the rubble and pulled on the hand, dragging out a half of a shoulder wearing raider armor. Fuck, no wonder them assholes hadn't been attacking the town. Simms came up beside him,

"Got lucky," he told Simms, as he held up the dismembered shoulder and arm. "Fuckin' bastards tried to dig under town."

Simms squinted at the remains. "Stay here," he said, moving off to the ruined house.

Jericho pulled his assault rifle off of his back and lit another cigarette, and heard Emily swearing from down near the bomb. Man, she was lucky as hell she'd been in his place when _that_ shit went down.

He chuckled and shook his head, and did his fucking job.


	5. In Which Emily Finds a Friendly Hand

Note: I didn't want to do that, but at least I didn't blow him up like husband suggested. Also, thanks for the idea Cathy!

* * *

The house was lying in the middle of town, the back left corner barely touching the ground. It was very nearly upside down, the lower level resting on the roof of the Brass Lantern. Once the dust had settled and people stopped making noise, Simms assessed the situation.

One of the water pipes under the house had exploded with whatever ordinance the raiders had been using. Simms sent Leo up to have Walter shut down the town's water supply until the pipe could be checked out and covered. Jericho and Nathan kept an eye on the depression in the ground; it appeared that the raiders had used too many explosives and collapsed the tunnel, killing themselves. Simms didn't want to take any chances, however―the idea that they had managed to dig all the way under the town wall was frightening enough.

Emily was climbing the side of the house to get to her front door, wobbling as she scaled the metal roof of the Brass Lantern, forced down by the house. Simms followed her up to the door and reached the sill as she fell into the house, thumping and swearing along the way.

He poked his head into the house, hearing the metal creaking under their weight. "Miss Emily, are you alright?" he called in.

 _"Fuck!"_ she swore.

"Guess not," he muttered to himself, and pulled himself into the door. Holding onto the frame with both hands, he surveyed the damage.

If the clinic hadn't caught the edge of the building it would be lying flat on its roof, instead of being suspended just above the ground. Everything loose in the house had been thrown to one corner, where Emily was lying, prying herself off of a pile of lockers and swearing loudly.

A Nuka-Cola machine had torn through the railing on the top level, falling to the upper corner, landing atop a surgical station. Doors hung ajar above them, the mattress laying across the bedroom door frame in a haphazard way. Junk items were everywhere, clothing caught on sharp edges and bullets and broken weapons strewn about through the main room. Water had streamed from the broken sink, coating the floor and making it slippery. Sparks were flying from a loose wire, swinging over their heads.

The fridge had stayed against the wall, oddly enough. Simms grabbed out and caught the edge of the bookshelf that was face down on the floor and moved down to where Emily was, holding a hand out to her. "Here," he said, grabbing her hand. She was slick with blood, still dripping from her nose.

"Where's Butch―" she groaned, grabbing his wrist with both hands.

Simms looked up and around for a moment. "Who is Butch?"

Emily sighed and tried to stand up. "A friend from the Vault," she said.

"I'll find him for you," Simms said. "You should get out of here, Miss Emily. You're pretty banged up. Don't want you getting hurt any more."

"Whatever," she muttered, reaching out and crawling across the floor. Simms watched her climb around and onto the bookshelf. She sat atop the wood with crossed legs, staring numbly at the mess. Didn't seem like she fully understood what had happened. Simms frowned, adjusting his hat on his head.

...Or maybe that injury to her face had given her a concussion. That was something he'd deal with, later. He turned away from her, sighing. There was a lot going on here and now, but first he would deal with this missing person.

His eyes caught a line of blood streaming down the wall from the upstairs. Followed the blood to the top floor, and cautiously moved toward the far corner, looking around. After a moment he located the source, some poor kid in a Vault suit, smashed in between her Nuka-Cola machine and the surgical table and lying on his back. The young man probably died instantly, given the amount of blood around him.

Simms sighed and pulled a first aid kit from the table, sideways against the far wall. He carried it back to the bookshelf. "Miss Emily," he said, looking up at her. "I hate to tell you, but..."

"Yeah, I know," she sniffled, wiping her bruised and swollen face with one arm. Blood streaked across the arm of his duster. Why she hadn't been wearing any clothes, was injured, and hanging out with Jericho―Simms didn't like it.

She'd literally lost everything in this weird accident. Wasn't much he could feel but sympathy for the girl.

"Let's get out of here and get the power shut off," Simms said, gesturing to the door. "We'll figure out what to do once everything's calmed down."

Emily sighed and nodded tiredly, crawling back up to the door. She slid a few times, then fell out of the door frame. Another loud swear and thumping. Simms tossed the first aid kit down before pulling himself out of the house, landing on his feet outside the counter of the Brass Lantern.

Andy and Jenny had hightailed it out of their place and across the way to the Children of Atom, standing there with angry looks on their faces. Leo must have been up at the water processing plant, since he'd been up on the railing when the sheriff yelled up. Simms watched the water slowing to a stop as it poured out of the pipes, flowing over the ground and making everything a muddy mess.

Emily climbed up the hill behind the Brass Lantern and was talking heatedly with Jericho. Simms watched them talking for a moment, trying to get a grasp on the situation.

Obviously the house was intact, but torn apart. The ancient pulleys that had been used to move plane parts were no longer in working condition―and even the best minds of Megaton couldn't get the house back up to the side of the crater. Simms breathed out slowly, his hands holding the first aid kit, watching Emily intently.

Jericho threw a handful of caps at her and yelled something about a slut. Simms shook his head at that. Emily had been trouble in the past, though her visits were never very long. Simms had sometimes regretted letting her have the house as payment for defusing the bomb.

Not right now, though. This was completely out of her control. She was out of control, too. Her questionable activity with Jericho and the matter of this poor boy that had been crushed to death inside her house; she had been drunk as hell coming into town, and stayed that way. She was a mess.

He felt like it was his fault for not stopping the trouble she'd had before, with that ghoul. Wasn't much he could do but tell people to leave each other alone, around town. Couldn't even kick that mangy old ex-raider out, on account of Moriarty vouching for him.

Emily might be a mess, but she was decent folk. He'd thought, when she returned without the ghoul who caused Jericho so much trouble, that things would be better for her and for the peace. Didn't look like that was going to happen, anytime soon. Emily was picking up the caps that the ex-raider threw at her, slowly, wiping her face. She needed a little intervention. And, hell, he liked the girl. She was honest, at least.

When Emily came back down the hill, sliding on her behind in the mud, Simms was waiting for her. "Listen, Miss Emily," he started.

She pushed herself up off of the ground and looked up at him with a dead expression. "What."

"...It might be better to dismantle the house as quickly as possible," Simms said, holding out a hand to help her up. "And, I have to say, I don't like whatever is going on with you right now."

Emily blinked slowly and wobbled on her feet. A massive bruise was spreading across her face, her nose bloodied and the skin torn. She had scratches all over her arms and what was visible of her chest. "And?" she said, staring at him.

"Do you need somewhere to go?"

She scoffed and threw a hand back up to the railing. "Jericho said I can stay at his place for a while," she muttered, unhappily. She did not seem to enjoy the thought, crossing her arms and putting her head down.

That was what did it, he knew. He was an even-minded man, hadn't lost his head in a long time, but this, this finally broke his temper.

"That's not going to happen," Simms said, firmly. "Look, girl, you got something you need to get off your chest, I can tell. But you aren't going to be staying there, not if it means more of―" he motioned at her face "―whatever happened to you tonight."

She sighed through her nose, staring at the ground. "Ain't nothing going on," she muttered.

"Don't make me brand you a liar, Miss Emily," Simms replied.

She coughed out a laugh and wiped her face again, smearing blood everywhere. Simms put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her under the wreckage of her house to the other side, and up the hill toward the gate.

"Nathan, round up some of the boys and start taking that thing apart," he yelled. "There's a body in there that needs removing, too."

"Can do!" Nathan called back. The old man would be excited at the chance to do his civic duty for the mayor and sheriff. He'd get it done in no time, too. Nathan was good people.

A bit like Emily, though she had a lot of years to get to that level of civic loyalty. Simms pushed her up the hill and toward his house. "I don't rightly care what is going on with you, right this moment," he said, slowly, "but you look like you could use some sleep, and I've got to handle this mess out here."

"Okay," she practically whispered, trudging up the hill.

"And I want you to get in the house here and go lie down, and I'll talk to you in the morning." Simms unlocked the door and motioned her inside. "Stay away from Jericho from here on out or you'll both be finding a new place to live, you hear?"

"But―"

"Go on," he said. He handed her the first aid kit and shoved her gently in the door.

She slumped herself into the house, looking down. "Yes, sir," she murmured, sighing.

Simms closed the door behind her and moved back down into the fray, to deal with the Stahls and to find out if Doc Church had survived the accident.

* * *

No one died, except for the boy.

The men were out cutting apart the metal as the sun rose, being very cautious around the bomb. It was well-known that it had been defused, and most people ignored or venerated its existence, but everyone was still careful. Simms was there helping to lift the last pieces of roof from the metal casing. A watch had been posted at the edge of the hole, slowly solidifying into a hard casing of mud, and Jericho was watching the men work with a smug look on his face. He hadn't moved since Simms told him to stay put.

Simms had decided to have a talk with the ex-raider about the night's events. To warn him, for one, that beating the crap out of women was not acceptable in the community, and this was his last chance. Between Emily and Jenny, he'd pushed the limits of Simms' patience.

He'd rather kick the foul old knuckle-dragger out of town. The town needed him, though. Simms was fairly certain that Jericho would go and get Moriarty to talk him into letting him stay, at any rate.

"Jericho," Simms said, coming up to the man. "Need to talk to you."

"Whaddya want," he said, tossing a cigarette off into the dirt.

"Just what in the hell happened tonight?" the sheriff asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Hadn't gotten his duster back yet. Felt a bit naked without it.

Jericho chuckled nastily. "I don't kiss and tell, sheriff. You want a story, you go bother Nathan."

Simms stared him down. "I know that girl didn't come into town with a broken nose, Jericho." The ex-raider shrugged and found somewhere else to point his eyes. "Whatever you were doing, it won't happen again, or you _will_ leave town for good."

"Don't get your panties in a fuckin' twist, I ain't stupid," Jericho said, rolling his eyes. "I'll mind my manners."

"See that you do," Simms answered, moving away from him. "And you get her clothing back to her before long, you hear?"

"When you're done with her, you send her back over to me," Jericho called, as he started back up toward his house. "We wasn't done playin'!" He laughed meanly, ending in a wet cough.

Simms sighed and went to talk to Emily.


	6. In Which Emily is Suspicious

Note: I have hope for this, now. Unleashed my inner cowboy.

* * *

The house was quiet when Simms entered it. Harden had been sleeping, like him, when her house began to fall. He was sitting downstairs at the table, waiting nervously for Simms to return. The boy looked up at him when he entered and shot a glance at the upstairs level.

"I know," Simms told him, as he opened his mouth to speak. "Go on, go play with Maggie. I got to talk to Miss Emily."

Harden took off without a word. Simms sometimes felt a little selfish for not letting his son exercise his boyish chicanery. Lord knew he was never as well-mannered as Harden, growing up. He'd learned a lot of lessons his own way, out in the wastes. Lessons he didn't want Harden to have to learn, but knew he would. One way or another, he would.

He walked up the stairs and knocked on the bedroom door, then opened it slightly. "Miss Emily," he said, quietly. "May I come in?"

"Yeah," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, sheriff," she added, before he could speak. "I ain't been acting nice."

"That you have not," Simms said, moving into the room and sitting on the edge of the desk. "What is going _on_ with you, girl?"

Emily sighed and wiped her eyes. She'd been crying, face was still all messed up from before. "I don't know," she said. She put her thumbs together and rubbed them against themselves. "I... I guess I just don't know what to do with myself, right now."

Simms knew that feeling. Before he'd been a Regulator, he'd never had much to credit to himself. Emily's unusual upbringing and her actions in the past few years should have defined her character better than it had. This Lone Wanderer persona didn't really fit her, it seemed. She'd always been a little too talkative. Always had a kind word for people in town. She'd always been willing to help Moira or Walter with their work, to sit in the old bus with Manya and patiently listen to Nathan prater on, to talk shop with Jenny and Andy, or even to put up with Billy Creel's impressive cheerfulness.

But that girl wasn't here, right now. She'd been changed for the worst, in the wastes.

He changed the subject to a more pertinent one. "...I never saw you raise your voice against anyone in town, except for that old asshole. I gotta wonder," Simms said, "why you'd go and put yourself in that situation. Why you'd let yourself get hurt."

"Jericho beat my face against the wall," she mumbled, looking down at her thumbs. "I was..." she sniffled a little. "Trying to apologize. I guess it didn't work."

"That man doesn't know forgiveness," Simms said, breathing out slowly. "I know you're a decent sort, Miss Emily. Jericho is not. You stay away from him, from here on out. I don't want to have to kick you out of town."

"Can't kick me out," she said, quietly. "I don't live here, anymore."

"Girl, you think just because your house is gone, you don't belong here?" She shrugged, keeping her eyes on her hands. "That's ridiculous. You disarmed the bomb! Hell, I wouldn't have invited you to stay if I didn't think you would do us more good, here in Megaton."

"I _haven't,_ though," she muttered.

"I'll give you that your actions in the past have been odd," Simms replied, "but I'm not going to discount you entirely, not yet. You've got a long time to figure yourself out. Megaton is a hell of a lot safer, because of you―hell, if that bomb hadn't been disarmed, can you imagine what might have happened last night?" He flung an arm out to the door, motioning outside.

She shrugged again. "I dunno."

"I think I can say we might not be seeing this sunrise," Simms said. "Look, girl, this bad shit happening out here, it's not your fault. Spending the night with Jericho, well, you know better, but we all make mistakes. Think you ought not to be so hard on yourself."

Emily sobbed and covered her face. "But... Butch is dead because of me," she moaned. "It's all my fault!"

Simms rubbed his beard and sighed, watching her cry. He stood, moving to the bed, and put an arm around her, patting her back. Emily cried into his shoulder, soundlessly. He didn't rightly know what to say about the boy; wasn't sure who he really was, to Emily.

"He didn't even _want_ to come here. I _made_ him," she whined. "I left him in the house because―" she sniffled and pressed her face into Simms' shirt. "I'm so goddamn _stupid."_

Simms rubbed her back through his duster. "I know how hard it is to lose a friend," he said. "Lost plenty myself, some because I wasn't good enough to protect them. We're all stupid like that when we're young."

She rubbed her forehead against him and didn't answer. Yes, he'd lost a few Regulators, while going after bounties. Escaped by the skin of his pants on occasion. After a time, his aim improved and his business got better; he learned his lessons and got craftier. Still lost a fellow every now and then, but he'd always tried his best to keep his men safe.

And he knew the pain of losing a loved one all too well. Harden's mother... Simms pressed his mouth into a line and breathed out. There were still _some_ things he blamed himself for.

Emily sobbed herself out on his shoulder, going limp against him. She sucked snot up into her head and rubbed her thumbs together again, staring at them with the crown of her head pushing against him. Simms had never noticed but she'd lost the tip of her left thumb, at some point.

"Where will I live," she muttered.

"I'm sure we can figure something out, Miss Emily."

She pulled herself away from him and kept her eyes down. "Maybe I should leave town, anyway," she said. "Better for everyone if I'm not around to make trouble."

"Running away never solved anything, girl." Simms patted her shoulder and removed his arm from her. "And I never figured you for a quitter."

"That's what got me into this mess to begin with," she muttered. She glanced up at him. "Not letting people go. People letting me go. Haven't got anyone left."

"You owe this town a little too much to go running off," Simms told her. "Give it a chance."

"If you say so." She sighed and looked even more tired than the night before. Didn't look very rested, not at all.

"Did you sleep?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

Emily shook her head. "Um," she said, biting her lip. "I haven't been sleeping well lately without―" She closed her eyes. "I can't fall asleep unless I drink myself stupid."

Simms bit his tongue before he said what he was thinking, that if she'd been drinking like that it was no wonder she spent the night with Jericho. Instead he stood up and stared down at her. "Listen, Miss Emily, I'll run over and grab your clothes, and then we'll see what's going on with your house."

"Okay," she said, sniffling.

"And after that, I'll find you somewhere to sleep," he said. "Maybe we'll rebuild your place, in the future. If you'd like that, that is."

"Your house looks just like mine," she said, quietly. "It's kind of funny. Your bedroom is way bigger than mine, though." She let out a small relieved laugh. "That's not _fair."_

Simms smiled gently at her. The old Emily was still in there, somewhere. She just needed a friend to help her out of that funk.

"I'll be right back, Miss Emily," he said, closing the door behind him.

* * *

After half an hour he had his duster back. He'd issued another warning to Jericho, a little more forcefully this time, and was walking with Emily down to Doc Church's. She was covered in scratches from head to toe and her face had swollen up more than ever, which was worrisome. Mostly it was worrisome because she claimed it didn't hurt all that much and Simms knew she was lying again.

"I don't like this lying business, Miss Emily," he told her, as they headed down the hill. "Best you put a stop to it."

"Or what," she said, without emotion.

"Or I'll not trust you," he answered. "Precious few people around here I can take at face-value. Rather not see your face value be as messed up as your actual face is, right now."

She chuckled softly. "O- _kay,"_ she said. Simms nodded, in satisfaction. That was the old Emily, to a tee. She was doing somewhat better. That gave him an idea that he was not comfortable with, on a moral ground, but was probably for the best. For her, at any rate―his reputation would take a hit for it. He put a pin in that, for now.

"Your nose is broken," Doc Church said, giving his best bedside manner. Simms stood behind Emily with his arms crossed, looking over her shoulder at the doctor. "Couple of stimpaks will fix it just fine."

"I don't have any caps on me," she said, slowly.

"I'll pay for it, Miss Emily," Simms said. "You can pay me back later."

"You don't have to," she told him.

"That's the point," Simms replied, looking down at her.

"Alright," she whispered.

The swelling was almost entirely gone when they left, the bruise slowly fading. Emily seemed in an odd mood, though, kept looking back at Simms and biting her lip. He knew that look; she was worried she'd end up paying more than just caps for kindness. He'd seen that too many times, in the wastes. Couldn't convince her otherwise, either; that type would always think like that until proven wrong through action. He ignored the look and cleared his throat.

"Your things were taken to the church," Simms said, pointing across the way. There was still a bit of mangled metal lying about the middle of town, but Andy and Leo were gathering it to rebuild their counter roof outside the Brass Lantern. Emily sighed and ran a hand up her forehead to her hair, shaking out dust. "I highly suggest you arrange with Mother Maya to have it stored, for now."

"I'll just liquidate it," she said. "As much as I can."

He nodded, and escorted her up the walkway to the church, following her inside. After a few minutes of talking with Mother Maya, Emily gathered up some things in a sack and carried it up to Moira, selling as much as she could. She slung her fancy rifle over her back, filled a few pockets with ammunition, and went back for a second round.

Took her five trips to fully unload most of her things, after which she counted with one hand and handed Simms a handful of caps. "For the stimpaks," she said. "And a little more by way of apology, for putting everyone in such a weird way."

"Girl, you didn't do nothing wrong," he said, accepting the caps and passing the extra back. "You want to give money away, go find Confessor Cromwell. And I'm sure Andy would appreciate the patronage."

Emily sniffled. "I'm gonna go eat," she said. "Be at the Lantern, unless they won't sell to me."

"I'll meet you there," he told her. Emily shot him a questioning look, part fear and part actual curiosity. "I've got to make some arrangements," he clarified, "but I'll come sit and we'll jaw some more about your predicament. That fair?"

Emily sighed in defeat. "Yeah, alright," she muttered. "Catch you later."

Simms watched her trudging down the hill toward the Brass Lantern, then shook his head. Girl needed a lot of support, to get over her problems. He might be a fool for thinking it, but he figured it was in his nature to be foolish.

Just as it was in her nature to be a cheerful young woman with undeniable charm and an assload of caps. She was too vulnerable to let wander off into the wastes, right now.

And he was too stubborn to give up on her, just yet.


	7. In Which Simms Offers a Solution

Note: Thank you for the review (though I can't really respond to reviews without being able to PM you guys)!

* * *

Emily was sitting at the counter of the Brass Lantern, slowly drinking a Nuka-Cola and trying to stuff a bowl of noodles in her stomach. She was jittery. _Very_ jittery. Her nerves were shot and she really wanted to drink. To forget everything and lose herself in the high of alcohol. To numb it all away and float around like _nothing_ was wrong.

Butch was gone, and it was all _her_ fault. _Everyone_ left her. She almost felt relief in the knowledge that it was normal―normal for her to lose everyone. She still wanted to kill that memory. To forget _everything._

Most of all, she wanted to forget what had happened in the night, with Jericho. But she couldn't trust that she wouldn't go off the deep end again, go running back to him, if she got as drunk as _that._ She barely remembered anything that had happened, up until the end. When he'd taken her from behind―God! She was so sore! _Fucking bastard._ He didn't have to go _that_ far, smashing her up like that. Calling her names and telling her she was a beggar?

It really wasn't much different than how she'd been treated in the past, though. Emily stared blankly at the wall opposite her. Really wasn't much different than _every single thing_ that had happened to her since she got out of the Vault. She was used to having to hide the memories in the landfill of her mind. It was old hat, now.

Jenny was trying to catch her attention, but she ignored her. Focused on the wall and drank her Nuka-Cola and lifted a shaking fork to her mouth, forcing herself to eat.

"Emily," Jenny hissed, then turned away quickly. Footsteps sounded and Emily caught a glimpse of bad teeth twisted into a devious grin.

 _Oh, goddammit._

"Aw, you got your face fixed," Jericho said, from behind her. "I kinda liked it all _bloody."_

"Fuck _off,_ asshole," Emily said, thumping the soda bottle onto the counter.

He laughed. "Nice attitude, you little slut. This is the fuckin' thanks I get for being charitable?"

"Don't you ever _listen_ to what people tell you?" she asked, ignoring his jab. "You ain't supposed to be around me."

Jericho's leather creaked as he slid onto the stool beside her, leaning one elbow onto the counter. "Yeah, I fuckin' listen. About as well as you do," he cackled. "When you coming up?"

"I'm not," she said, firmly. Simms was right about that, she knew. Wasn't a good idea to go back up there with him. Not if he was gonna be as _friendly_ as he had, before. She clenched her hand around the soda bottle, staring at the wall. Didn't bother to make eye contact.

"What, you actually gonna listen to that stupid cowboy sheriff?" Jericho laughed, derisively. "You got somewhere _better_ to go? Gonna hang out with them fuckin' do-gooders at the church?"

Emily ignored him, taking another bite of her noodles. Jericho stared at her for a moment, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Look, Emily, I ain't exactly winnin' any popularity contests around here," he said. "I know I roughed you up, but hell, you been riling me up since _forever._ You gotta give me another chance. A man can change."

"I'll give you a chance to walk away before Simms comes down and finds you here," Emily replied, calmly. She took another drink, swallowing harder than she intended. She was too nervous, couldn't calm down, didn't trust him. Not after he'd―she fought a full-body shudder. Didn't need to go remembering any of _that._

"So that's how it's gonna be?" he asked, throwing a hand out to cover hers over her soda. "I gave you a smack or two and you're done with me?"

Emily turned her head slowly, staring at him without any expression. She picked up her fork with her free hand and stabbed him as hard as she could on the back of his hand. Jericho let out a holler and jerked his hand backward, lifting it up like he was going to slap her.

 _"Fuckin'_ _Christ!"_ he said, his hand shaking as he stopped himself. "What the _fuck!"_

"I gave you a chance to walk away," she replied, her voice dead in her throat. "Now you got a chance to get the hell away from me before I scream bloody murder."

"You wouldn't _dare―"_ Jericho hissed, then stood up fast as she opened her mouth wide. "Fine, _be_ that fuckin' way. You'll be back. You _always_ fuckin' come back." He stomped off, swearing under his breath.

At least the threat worked. Jericho seemed to be worried about Simms, now. Emily wondered what had gone on between them. She sighed and went back to her meal.

"Here," Jenny said, handing her a new fork. Emily shook her head. "No, really," Jenny said, a smile tugging at her face. "I'm going to hang that one on the wall, as a trophy."

Emily snorted. "It's not a big deal," she said, sullenly.

"After what happened to you?" Jenny sighed. "We're sisters in suffering, hon."

"Rather not think about it," Emily replied, pushing her bowl across the counter. Goddamn gossips, everywhere she went. She'd stopped caring after―after that incident with Irving and his name, outside of the Citadel. Wasn't worth fighting, anymore.

"You'd better not hold onto that anger," Jenny said. "If you ever need to talk... I'm here for you." She laid the fork down, patted Emily's hand, and removed the other, taking it into the building.

Emily sniffled, fighting back emotion. Yeah, probably a good idea. Everyone here was so well-adjusted, compared to her. Even when bad things happened, like with Jenny and whatever Jericho had done to _her._

But they weren't Emily. They weren't even from the Vault. Jenny had her brothers to keep her safe, out in the wastes. They'd all grown up together, come to Megaton, and made something of themselves. Emily came from a place so dramatically different, she couldn't even begin to comprehend what growing up out here would make out of her. She hadn't managed to do _anything_ right in the past few years, except for finish what her father started.

Even then, she hadn't started the purifier. _Charon―_

She covered her face and cried into her hands. God, _why_ was she acting like this―why was everything so much _harder_ for her, now?

"You alright, Miss Emily?"

Emily dropped her hands. "Don't think so," she muttered, sniffling and turning to look at Sheriff Simms. "But it won't kill me."

"Well." He sat on the stool next to her and tossed a handful of caps down. Jenny moved to the counter, placing down a bowl of food. "Had some thoughts, while I was about."

"Mmhmm," Emily answered, wiping her face on her sleeve.

"You need someone to help you out of this mess you're in," Simms said, picking up a fork. "I could use a deputy. Weld is a fine shot, but not really a people person."

She stared at him for a minute. "What?"

"I'll hire you on as a deputy, if you'd like," he said, shoving a mouthful of food into his mouth and chewing. He swallowed and looked over at her. "You get a job and a purpose, I'll get some help around here."

"I doubt I could be much help―" she started. "Really, sheriff, I think it would be better if I took off."

"I'm telling you that ain't the way to go about it," Simms replied. "Too many folks around here would miss you, for one."

"I definitely would," Jenny put in. "I like having you around, Emily."

Emily shot a glance at the woman, leaning against the wall of the Brass Lantern. "Even if my house damn near destroyed your business?" she asked, softly.

"I don't see that as your fault, now," Jenny said. "The raiders at the school have been trying for ages to get into Megaton. We have what they _want,_ hon. That's what raiders do."

"Megaton is still your home, Miss Emily," Simms said. "Still worth protecting, worth keeping safe. My family, Jenny's family, we're all worth it. Even Jericho, as much dislike as the man works at garnering."

Emily pressed her lips together. _That_ was true enough. But if Simms was serious about this offer, she'd have to deal with _him_ on a regular basis. "...I don't know," she said, slowly. "I don't think I'd be the right person for this job."

Simms chewed in silence, then glanced over at her. "I won't try to convince you if you won't have it," he said. "Give it a few thoughts."

"I still don't have a place to go," Emily muttered. "How can I live in Megaton without a home?"

"There's always room for you at my table, Miss Emily," Simms replied, evenly. Jenny gave a sharp gasp and her head jerked to look at him. Emily stared at the blonde, wondering why she had done that. Simms wasn't well-known for causing such a reaction―

His words finally sunk in and turned her head sharply toward the sheriff. _"Um?"_ she said, confused.

"Look, girl," he said, turning slightly to face her. "You've got some problems. That's alright, you'll get over them. You just need someone to keep an eye on you. I need a deputy that can tell the difference between jackassery and actual violent intent. It could work... if you're willing to give it a try. I wouldn't blame you if you're not."

"But you can't seriously―" Emily moved herself sideways on the stool. "How could you _trust_ me in your house, around your son? I'm a _liar_ and a―" She stopped herself from saying what Jericho had been calling her. _I can't say that's a lie,_ she thought. It wasn't.

"Trusted you to defuse _that_ thing," Simms said, putting one foot up on the rung of the stool. He hiked a thumb at the bomb behind them. "Anyone willing to risk their own life doing that, for the good of my people, is someone I would gladly put up."

Emily stared at him for a moment. She sucked snot up into her head, wiped her eyes, and stared at him again. "I don't think it's a good idea, Sheriff Simms."

Jenny removed Emily's bowl from the table, clearing her throat. "I'm going inside for a few minutes," she said, loudly and obviously. "I'll be back after a bit." Emily watched her practically flee into the Brass Lantern.

"What _in the hell―"_ she started, staring after the woman.

"Folk are conscientious," Simms said, and finished his meal. "Was before your time, Miss Emily. Don't let gossip bother you."

"Gossip about _wh―"_ Emily snapped her mouth shut. She'd hear all about it later, she was sure. From Jenny or someone else―but... _moving in with_ _the sheriff?_ ...As his new deputy? What the hell good could _she_ do, anymore? And―Emily's face flushed a little, thinking about what had happened with Jericho. What did the sheriff _expect_ of her, in this arrangement?

She eyed him cautiously. She did... _trust_ him. She'd never heard a bad word about him. But _maybe..._ maybe he was really good at hiding his bad. Emily was spectacularly _terrible_ at hiding her bad―because she _wasn't_ bad, really. ...Which was why he was asking her to be the deputy, she guessed?

"I suppose it wouldn't be _awful_ to be a deputy," she said, quietly. "But... I don't think it's a good idea for me to― _you know―"_ She cleared her throat. "To move in. You haven't got the room for me. And you've got your boy to consider."

"Until you get a more permanent home," he began, "it would allow for you to talk out your problems. It's not going to be easy for either one of us, Miss Emily."

"I wouldn't think so," she replied, direly.

"You know, Harden likes to pretend to be a lawman. Running 'round town, chasing after Maggie," Simms added. "You be my deputy, he'll probably make Maggie play at being Deputy Emily." He smiled, knowingly. "I bet the poor girl would _appreciate_ a promotion from Criminal Number One."

Emily sputtered a nervous laugh. "I bet," she muttered, and held her Nuka-Cola in her hands, staring down at the bottle. "I'll... I'll think about it, sheriff," she said, slowly.

"You know where to find me," he said, standing up. Simms put a finger to his hat and walked away from the Brass Lantern's counter, leaving Emily to wonder why in the _hell_ he would even bother trying to help her out―why he would even _care._

The thought made her _very_ nervous.


	8. In Which Simms' Past is Revealed

"Hey, Manya," Emily called, walking up to the bus.

"Hello, dear," Manya said, turning to her. "Such a _dreadful_ thing, your house coming down like that. It's been a long time since I've seen anything like that happen. Are you alright?"

Emily crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the ground. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"That's good to hear," the old woman said, and smiled at her. "Do you need anything, are you hungry? I've got some mirelurk cakes around here somewhere..."

"I'm alright, Manya, thanks." Emily sighed and stared down at the middle of town. It was still so unreal, seeing the empty space where her house had been. She caught a glimpse of Jericho walking up the ramp, and turned to Manya. "Can I talk to you in private?"

"Of course," Manya said, and opened the door to her home. Emily followed her inside.

"Um," Emily started, sitting on the wheel well of the bus, staring over at Manya. "I don't want to be nosy, but I really gotta ask some questions, and you've been here the longest..."

"Fire away, dear," Manya said, taking a seat at the table. Emily felt a little like she was back in the Vault, talking to Old Lady Palmer. She smiled at Manya, but it faded all too soon.

"Sheriff Simms asked me to... to be a deputy here in town," she said.

Many clapped her hands together. "How wonderful! I'm sure you'll be a great help."

"...He also asked me to live in his house." Emily crossed her arms.

 _"Oh,"_ Manya said, lowering her voice. "I hadn't realized you and the sheriff were―"

"We're not," Emily replied, quickly. She stared at her feet. "He says he wants to keep an eye on me."

Manya was quiet for a moment. "I gather you're asking because you're concerned about him," she said, slowly.

"I need to know why Jenny was so startled when Simms asked," Emily answered. "Seemed like something was going on. Simms said it was gossip."

"I suppose," Manya said, and patted the tabletop. "It was a long time ago. Harden was a baby when it happened."

"Can you―" Emily sighed in frustration. "Will you tell me about it?"

Manya cleared her throat and stared into the darkness of the bus for a moment. "Well," she began, "my memory isn't entirely free of mistakes, you know."

"That's fine," Emily told her, "anything you can tell me would help."

"Very well," Manya said. She looked at Emily. "Come sit at the table. It's a long story."

Emily moved to the table and sat with her chin in her hands, staring at the old woman. Manya cleared her throat again and began to talk.

"Sheriff Simms used to be a Regulator," Manya said. "Out in the wastes, dealing with criminals. It's one of the reasons we all agreed that he should be Sheriff." She looked over at Emily. "Very respectable way of living, you know. Pays very well."

Emily nodded, listening carefully. She'd never been on the wrong side of the law, but she'd heard rumors. Thought about seeing if she could join, once or twice, but she never had the aim for it. She grimaced at herself. It would have been embarrassing, and she'd probably be dead, if she'd tried.

"Before he settled here, for good, he was in and out of town all the time. Never said why, but on the last trip out he came back with a woman. It was pretty obvious," Manya smiled widely. "The man was taken by this little slip of a thing, and had been looking for her all over the place."

"Harden's mom?" Emily asked, staring at the old woman.

"Yes. She called herself Sunny. Like the song? _'Please don't take my sunshine away'_ ," Manya sang, chuckling softly. "Sheriff Simms was never all that happy until she came. When he finally had her here, he was about as happy as all get-out."

"Sounds romantic," Emily said.

"Oh, _terribly_ so," Manya agreed, waving a hand. "Sheriff Simms and she got married and moved into that house up on the craterside, and everything was peaceful for a time. He was the new Sheriff, and she kept the house. Didn't really come out of the place too often. Some of us wondered what was going on, but Sheriff Simms said she had her own ways, just as we do." Manya nodded to herself, agreeing with the sentiment. "Didn't mean she wasn't the nicest woman around, though. When you got her to talking, it was a flood. This woman was a real sweet thing, guess that's how she got her name." Manya's face crinkled into a smile.

"I get it," Emily said. She looked down at the table. _A little like_ _me,_ she thought, and made a face. She always talked too much.

"We hardly got to know her, like that. Until one day... Sunny came flying out of the house and right down to Doc Church―and we were all so glad to hear she was going to have a baby." Manya sighed. "I missed my chance. Sometimes I wish that Nathan and I had been so blessed."

Emily glanced up at her. "And then Harden was born?"

"Oh, my, yes. Never heard a child cry so loud. You could hear him in the night all the way over here!" She shook with laughter. "He was a good baby. So tiny and adorable. Sheriff Simms was awful proud, when he was born. Everything seemed so happy..."

"But?"

"...Well, you know as much as I do how _quickly_ things can change."

"Yeah," Emily said, sucking snot up into her head. "Yeah, I _know."_ She sighed and looked down at the table again, sadly. It was true enough for her own situation, even. "What happened?"

"It seems our Sunny was not the happy woman that she acted," Manya said, her voice becoming strained. "Sheriff Simms had found her out in the wastes. She was a stranger until Harden was born, and even then... bad habits still remained." Manya breathed out in a snort. "He didn't tell anyone where he'd found her, but it turned out she'd been a raider."

Emily stared at the old woman in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Yes. He found her out at a Metro somewhere to the west, and took her in out of the goodness of his heart." Manya rubbed her nose. "After Harden was born, she started acting much different. Causing fights, stealing things, general foolishness. Sheriff Simms tried his best to reign her in, keep her at home with Harden, but her wild spirit was too much."

Emily blinked in surprise. "I can't believe it."

"Neither did we, until she started causing trouble. We tried to help, me and Nathan. Watched the boy for her, far too often for our own good." Manya smiled. "He was such a good baby when he was here. At home he did nothing but cry."

Emily put her hands flat on the table top and looked into the corner of the bus, wondering how Manya had kept an infant in the place. It was too small for her and Nathan, even.

"It all came to a head one day, when Sunny dropped Harden off with us. She walked right out of Megaton and into the wastes. I never saw her again." Manya sighed. "Sheriff Simms said they'd fought the night before, and then she was gone."

"Sounds awful," Emily muttered. Maybe that was why Jenny thought it strange that Simms should ask her to live there. Was worried that Simms was going to get himself hurt, if he―she didn't want to think about it, really. She turned her attention back to to the old woman. "What happened next?"

"The raiders up at the school started attacking about that time," Manya went on. "Seemed they knew a little _too_ much about Megaton, about how to get into town. Sheriff Simms and some of the men led the defense against them. When they came back, less two people, the sheriff was a changed man." She looked over at Emily. "Nathan joined them, even when I asked him not to. I don't know who's the bigger fool... him, or me. I married him, after all."

Emily smiled half-heartedly at her. "He would be nothing if you weren't around, I bet," she teased.

"He's a silly old man in love and I'm a silly old woman," Manya replied, wryly. Her face fell. "Nathan told me that the raiders had been getting information from Sunny."

"Shit," Emily said, then covered her mouth. "I'm _sorry,_ I just―"

"It's an apt sentiment," Manya agreed. "Sunny was telling them how to get into Megaton and about our guns. ...But when they came home, Nathan told me that Sheriff Simms had to put her down."

Emily sighed and sucked snot up into her head. "Yeah, I kind of figured that was coming."

"Jenny must have been worried for the sheriff," Manya mused, glancing at Emily. "Not that you are a bad woman, like Sunny was―"

"No, it's okay, I get it," Emily said, quickly.

"He was in such a bad way after Sunny died... and that poor boy had to grow up without a mother. We try not to mention her around Harden. The sheriff asked us not to speak poorly of his mother."

Emily stared at her. "I don't think that the sheriff has any of _that_ kind of intent," she said, slowly. "I mean, I don't feel like that's the case. He thinks I need someone to watch me all the time. ...I guess he figures I'll get into trouble _again."_ She looked down and grimaced.

"Some of the gossip I heard, I wouldn't doubt," Manya said, patting her hand. "You stay away from Jericho. Nothing but trouble if you set him off."

"Yeah, I'm really good at _that,"_ Emily muttered.

"You're young," the old woman said, smiling. "We're _allowed_ to do foolish things as young people. But you have to survive those foolish things, or you will die." She sounded more stern than Emily had ever heard her, before.

"Manya―"

"My eyes have seen far more than my heart tells," Manya said, wisely. "I haven't always lived in peace, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Emily flushed in embarrassment.

"And that peace in which we live is provided by our sheriff," Manya added, in a firm tone. "It wouldn't be terrible to have another good person, keeping the town safe. And you would do just fine to _listen_ to his advice."

"Okay," Emily said, feeling chastised.

"Now, you tell me why you even bothered to run around with that nasty old man, and I promise not to lecture you again," Manya said, smiling at her.

"O _-kay."_

* * *

"Sheriff Simms?"

The black man lifted his head from under the pipes where her house had been, glancing back at her. "Just a moment, Miss Emily."

Walter and Simms were examining the pipes, Walter tightening a bolt on a cap over the one pipe. Leo Stahl was half crouched in a hole, riveting metal to another pipe. When the explosions happened, it must have broken some of the pipes, flooding the hole the raiders had dug.

Emily surveyed the crater side and rubbed her face. They were lucky that the pipes hadn't been completely destroyed. At least this was reparable, and the power lines had been put back up without needing much work. Megaton was a hell of a sturdy place.

"How can I help you, Miss Emily?" Simms said, coming up the hill to meet her.

"Did this turn out?" she asked, first.

"Nothing too terrible," he said. "Walter and Leo will put up a walkway tomorrow. If we can borrow some of the siding from your house?"

Emily nodded. "Whatever you need, you guys can use. I got the place for free, anyway."

Simms smiled gently at her. "Did you think about the offer?"

She sighed and rubbed her neck. "Yeah, I did."

"What's your answer?"

Emily looked at the sheriff's hat for a moment, wondering where he'd managed to find a cowboy hat out in the wastes. If he put that sort of determination, finding that thing, into protecting the town... well, it was admirable.

"I'll do it," she said. "I still don't _like_ the idea, but I'll do it."

"Good," Simms said, turning back to Walter. "First order of business is to organize a group and head out to the school."

Emily stared at his hat again. "This is a stupid question, but... _why?"_

Simms looked back up at her. "Well, for one, we have to make sure there's no more raiders up there, trying to reopen the hole," he replied, patiently.

"Okay."

"Another, I need to gauge your combat experience," he added. "Not sure if I ever had the pleasure of seeing you in action."

Emily flushed. "Um, I might get myself fired on my first day," she muttered, looking away.

"We'll see," Simms said. "Let's go, Deputy Emily."

She flushed even deeper. _I hope this isn't a bad idea,_ she thought, following the sheriff down toward town.


	9. In Which Emily is Obsessed Over

Note: Haha this sucker ain't going _nowhere_

(minor edits to chapters 5, 7, and 8)

* * *

One week after he'd walked away, he'd immediately turned around and gone back. Shameful, he knew. Not the going back, but the fact that he'd walked away at all. The fact that he'd taken a week to come back to his senses and realized how much of an ass he'd been.

God, he was such an asshole. He'd left her high and dry on the bridge of Rivet City, left her crying and vulnerable... left her without anyone to turn to. How could he do that to Emily? His heart was broken, thinking about how badly he'd treated her. She would never want to be around him again―

But he'd been so damn angry at her―

No, no, it wasn't―yes. Yes, it was her fault. All the horrible things that happened to her, her poor judgement in Annapolis. Everything he'd tried to do, everything she'd done, the outcome of those things. The blame. Elder Lyons gave him that option, to take the blame. Emily didn't get that option. She knew she was at fault, but Lyons held him accountable because he'd been commanding officer. He took the blame for everyone in Annapolis, for failing to maintain order.

He broke the Chain, he let her antics get the best of him. He took action where he shouldn't have, and completed the mission with stupendous failure. His fault. He was lucky he'd been allowed to carry a weapon out of the Citadel, he was such a shame to the Brotherhood.

Sarah hadn't understood. She hadn't had the chance to fall in love, yet. She didn't think his affection was normal, said he was obsessed with the Wanderer. She didn't know what he was going through, thought he was insane to feel so strongly about Emily. She hadn't had to fight for affection, been jealous, hadn't been tortured like he had been, over another person.

Sarah thought he'd let his affection get in the way of their work. That, he knew, was the truth. God, he―he shouldn't have let Emily help, should have told her to go away. Go home and be safe. Stay away from him and stay away from that slaver fortress.

But―God, the last time he tried to order her around she'd left him high and dry, and he'd thought he would never see her again. Tore his heart out, last time. Let her ghoul practically eat it in front of him, this time. Emily's hands were firmly wrapped around his heart and he could not budge her one way or another, by giving in or ordering her around.

And her ghoul... Her ghoul gave her away. To him, to the rival. Because that bastard had hurt her and he knew it, and by God Irving wanted to find him and splatter his brains out onto the ground for what he'd done to Emily―

He'd thought that was his chance to get in the door, when the ghoul gave her away. Emily had listened to him, for once in the three years he'd known her, and she'd done as he asked when he brought her back to the Capital Wasteland. He'd had her alone and with him, and she was open to suggestion. It was obvious at that point, he could have taken control and made her do what he'd wanted, been a family, been safe together.

But he couldn't. He was too angry. Too upset, because he knew then it was wrong to try to make her behave―

Who was he to order her around, when she'd been campaigning against slavery for so long at that point? If he told her to do as he said and she stopped her awful shenanigans, if she listened to him, it made him no worse than those slavers she wholeheartedly hated.

He wanted Emily. But he wanted Emily to be Emily, not the sad woman he'd met after the ghoul was "dead" and not the wretched creature he'd come across after her ghoul went under contract again.

Even if it meant she was scandalous and teasing or if she was playful and tempting. He wanted Emily to be herself, more than he wanted for himself to have her.

Maybe he _was_ obsessed.

* * *

Emily had been at Rivet City for a while, before moving on. Irving found she'd annoyed the hell out of most people on the tub while wandering around in a drunken haze. A stab of fear in his heart, then, because he knew how bad she got when she was drunk. How... needy. And he was perfectly aware of her... talents.

He'd let her get to that point. God, it was all his fault. He deserved this pain.

She had a friend with her when she left; another Vault 101 resident, who'd escaped into the wastes like she had. A young man the same age as her, who had a similar drinking problem. Belle had nothing but good things to say about this Butch character. She wasn't as high of opinion about Emily, but that he attributed to minor jealousy. Butch had been a well-paying customer, and the ship's barber.

Emily left for Megaton some time before. Irving struck a deal with a merchant to get an escort out west, where this Megaton was. He'd been out of the D.C. area before Annapolis, many a time, but he couldn't remember every place he'd ever been. Came out to D.C. as a boy with family, and lost them.

The Brotherhood took him and his brother into their fold, made them into soldiers. He owed them everything. They took everything the boys had as payment and put it to use. They'd spent his brother's life, in the war against the Super Mutants. He made himself work through the pain, made himself lost in the simplicity of killing things. Worked himself to the bone to become better than all of them, so that they could not spend his life, too.

It had been an existence fraught with loneliness, until he'd met Emily.

His heart hurt like hell. Hid head hurt, too. Hurt all over, really. Felt like he was going to die if he didn't find her. He needed to find her. She made him feel alright.

He was losing it, again. Nothing bothered him, right now, not even his expulsion from the Brotherhood―the loss of his entire life's work, all his merit for being a Brotherhood soldier, the status of being a member of the Lyon's Pride. But the idea that Emily had gone off into the wastes as a wreck with another wreck walking beside her... The thought that she might be dead, right now, and he could do nothing to stop it? That she was lost to him, forever?

He... he didn't know what he would do, if it came to that. Last time―he'd sworn vengeance on

the slavers, and executed it. This time, it would only be him to blame. Himself to take revenge on. He rubbed his temples and tried not to think about it.

The merchant was selling power armor. Irving bought it just to own it, wondered where he'd gotten it. "Our wandering friend," he said, in a chipper voice. "I hear tale her house was destroyed recently."

"Explain," Irving demanded.

Wasn't much else to say about it. Megaton had been at war with raiders for years. This time, they'd tunneled under the wall of town and made short work of a metal shack near the entry to the town. Turned out it was Emily's house. She hadn't been inside; the young man she was with had been killed, but she was lucky to have not been in the building when it fell off of the supports.

He had to get to Megaton. If she had nowhere to go, had lost her friend in the attack, and she was still drinking―

* * *

They came to Megaton in the middle of the day, trudging without stop over the rocks and roads. Irving did recall that he had been this way, once before. He remembered the little town with the robot guarding the gates, but only vaguely. It had been such a long time ago, for him.

His life was not so much different, than it had been before. Forced to eke out an existence in the wastes. The only real difference was that he was now working as a temporary guard to the caravan to pay for his food, rather than scavenging through junk for caps.

As they approached the town, he saw her. His breath caught in his throat as it always did. God, she was beautiful. Even when she'd been injured, her face smashed in by raiders, she was beautiful. From her rich brown hair to those sparkling blue eyes―eyes that were slowly dimming after a few years of shit heaped upon her by the wasteland―to her obvious physical assets.

He stared, he couldn't help it. Not so long ago, he would have been imagining her undressing in front of him, preparing for bed. He wouldn't even care if she was wearing power armor, or wearing a trashy nightgown. He loved her, everything about her. And he knew the feel of those soft lips on his. He might have imagined her touching him before, but now―all he could feel now was her mouth on his, and how it had made his heart beat faster than anything.

How he'd been so scared of her, that she would reject him. And when she had... Irving sighed and put his hand to his heart, clenching it into a fist. God, such pain was not meant for a man. He was still terrified for her. Still wanted to protect her.

The merchant elbowed him and told him she was the Wanderer who'd sold him the power armor. He knew that already, ignored the man.

Emily was standing with a group of men and women outside of the gates, being spoken to by a black man in a long coat and a cowboy hat. Irving kept his head down as the merchants took up a position near and watched this group with interest.

They were mostly ordinary wastelanders. Emily had changed her leather armor for a merc outfit, baring her stomach. She was watching the man in charge with a nervous look, fiddling with her infiltrator in her hands. He was going on about some raiders in the nearby school, and about the attempt to tunnel under the town.

Irving had already heard that. His eyes picked up on something else, something far more disturbing. An older tanned man was watching Emily, his eyes starting low and sweeping up. He cracked a grin that could only be called knowingly deviant, staring at her behind.

He didn't like that. It meant one thing, and Irving knew how Emily had acted, in the past. If this was the replacement for her ghoul―

He was his competition.

God, she'd fallen low, picking some leering old man. He never should have left her at Rivet City.

"Alright, folks, let's head out," the man in the cowboy hat said, waving them north. "Sooner we get out there, the sooner we can come home." He began to lead the way, and Emily followed at his side. They talked as they walked, Emily staring up at this leader, her eyes intent on his.

Maybe there was more competition than he'd thought―

Irving closed his eyes and swallowed hard, and went into the town.


	10. In Which Emily is The Reason Why

Note: We are putting the _nnngggg_ in angst today ya'll

Now you know why he hates mirrors

* * *

Charon had spent a long time walking across the wastes with little ammo, slicing up mole rats for dinner, watching his armor go to ruin as he was attacked repeatedly by enemy upon enemy, wandering around and becoming lost. A long time, trying not to think about _her._

He followed the sun until he found the deathclaws. Thought that they might kill him; it was all he deserved after―but he was too good at what he did, even if he could no longer protect... her. From himself. From the wastes.

He protected himself, now. Could not protect her, any longer. It was hell.

 _Goddammit._ He missed her. Fuck _him_ and his confusion, fuck her and her _stupidity_ ―fuck his thoughts, they only made him angry. He missed it. He missed being able to wander about with her, shooting things for her, being used as a teddy bear, even their fights. He missed her cheerful nature, her clean smell, her perfect smile.

Missed being able to reach out and touch skin that was not ragged, whenever he pleased. Being with someone who did not care what he was, who valued him because he existed, even if he existed only to serve. Being able to have physical love on her whim, being able to feel... whatever it was he had felt, that he could not recapture. He still loved her, in his way. In the only way he knew _how._

He was terrible at everything except for murder. Terrible at trying to love her. He tried not to think about her. It would only get him killed.

After the deathclaws, he had gone south. Found a burned out slaver stronghold. Reminded him again. For a long time, even ignoring his stomach when it growled for food, he sat in the slavers' former home and thought about Annapolis.

Thought about how he had been raised up to serve, and now that he no longer existed to serve he was lost; how he had no purpose in the wastes without serving. Without... without _Emily,_ he had nothing to do but to wander like she had. Her wandering always had purpose. His had none.

He had _nothing._ Nothing, without her.

It did not lend to him a good mood. Without a good mood, he was too dangerous for civilization. He knew this. He stayed away from towns. Ate things that were best left unmentioned, to survive. He shot at and killed creatures that were no threat, creatures that were a threat, and he scavenged the corpses of many a man who crossed his path. He only shot the ones who tried to kill him; the others he ignored and moved on from as quickly as he could.

At some point he came across the Friendship Heights Metro. His sense of direction led him down into the Metros, where he existed among the ferals. Had not had many thoughts about how he would eventually become one of their kind. Without companionship, it was easy to imagine himself becoming as insane as they were. But it was _not_ something he enjoyed contemplating.

He _had_ enjoyed her. Even her stupid attempts to control him, which had led to his leaving her.

Never thought he would come to that. Thought he would be with her forever, until she died and he was forced to go out into the world again. To wander and find a new employer, someone else to serve. To do... _this,_ what he was doing now, moping about in a Metro like some angsty child. Like Emily herself might have done.

He snarled at himself, feeling the cracks along the edges of his mind. He was pulling the same _stupid_ shit she did, now.

Walking the tunnels and fighting raiders, scrounging through the rubble for food, existing on the bare necessities. He was better than that. He had been the best of his kind, until circumstance forced him into the worst of a new kind.

Fucking _Azruhkhal._ Fucking _Luther,_ dooming him to this existence. He had killed all those who wronged him except Emily, and he could not kill her. She did not _deserve_ death; she was a sleeping child and he was the monster under her bed, grabbing ankles and growling at night. The thing that she was both frightened of and enamored with.

Charon stayed in the Metro station at Friendship Heights and imagined as if he were not the monster that he was. Found himself talking to the ferals as if they could understand, desperate for a social aspect to his existence. Never bothered him before, had gotten by on the small amounts of conversation from bar patrons at Underworld. Had enjoyed many a moment talking with Emily, even the times when she treated him as an inconvenience or was angry with him because he was who he was.

He stared at himself in a Metro bathroom mirror. Shattered as it was, he could still see the rough texture of his rotting face, the cold eyes without anything more than a thin strip of lid to cover them. The hard muscles that he'd come to accept as unchanging, under the leather armor he had been given, flexing with every movement, powerful and tightly bound just as he was by that fucking contract. Bones peeking from the red mass, peeling skin and sand-blasted flesh, the dry texture of the skin that remained.

He removed his gloves and stared at his hands. Hands that had held her, that had played over her skin when she asked. Hands that could not feel the delicate nature of her skin, that sometimes had bruised her when she was on top of him because of that. She never complained. She never praised it, either, but she accepted him.

Hands that had strangled her near to death in willing cooperation with the conditioning. He clenched his fists and stared back up at the mirror, forcing himself to met his own eyes. Leaning on the sink with his full weight, hearing the ceramic protesting under his grip, the chipped edges digging into his hands and cutting the marred flesh wide open.

There was no difference in color, between the blood that came from him when he was injured and his skin color. He was bloody every moment of every day, as Charon the ghoul.

Emily bled easily, too. She spent a lot of time being bloody, like him. Her blood would wash off, wash with the clean waters she had brought to the wastes. Her blood spilled for reasons that made the world a far better place, even if she did not appreciate it, even if he did not wish that her blood ever be spilled.

She did not have to grapple with being human. She grappled with being Emily, a child lost to the wastes when her father revealed his lies. She did not have memories spanning one hundred years of murder and brainwashing. She had memories of life in a Vault, safe if somewhat dramatic at times.

She had been whole her entire life, until the wastes broke her mind like a Brahmin's back. He remembered, but he hated. Hated when he'd been whole. Was better to forget those memories, again, to partition his mind and lock away the things that should not define the monster he'd become.

He knew more about being Charon, the ghoul, more than he had ever known about being Peter, the man. Had not contemplated his existence as Peter. He was Charon the ghoul, now and forever, unchanging and― _fuck,_ he was lost without her. Emily had not known him as a man. She only knew him as a ghoul. She had only loved him as Charon the ghoul.

As her guardian, existing only to serve, until she opened the floodgates to a being who had not truly existed in his entire life. She'd loved him because he was hers to have, without question. She did not have to work at him. Did not have to worry that he would cause some drama, that he would hurt her, that he would leave. Until he had turned on her, just as he had turned on Connie Alexander.

Until Emily removed the binding the contract made, but not the contract itself, she had been safe.

Charon growled and stared at himself in the mirror.

He had been a rock for her. Stability. Kept the _bad_ things away, even if she did not understand why, at first. Had devoted himself to her even after she relaxed his conditioning. And then he had _left_ her.

His hands bled onto the chipped ceramic, coating the sink in warm blood as it gushed from his palms.

Charon's voice grew louder, snarling in his throat as he _hated_ the thing in the mirror. Anger flooded his veins, replacing the blood he was losing. The noise rose to a maddening volume in the tiny bathroom, echoing off the walls and bouncing back onto his exposed eardrums with pain, assaulting himself.

The thing in the mirror grew angrier, too. It was a contest. Unblinking, he stared at it, trying to frighten it into going away. Into backing down.

But it would not _leave._ It would _never_ leave him, like it had left Emily. Broken, strangled, frightened, lying on a pile of rubble in a city full of that which she hated the most.

He took a shaking breath, ceasing his growls, and let it out again. There was a solution. One he did not want to put into effect, but one that would inevitably make the monster behave.

Charon stared at himself in the mirror, seeing his torn mouth making words. The monster howled in outrage at the idea. Pain crept through his hands, up his arms, weakening his grip on the broken sink.

He was powerful. Everything about him was powerful, in one way or another. He was more powerful than the monster in the mirror. More powerful that than thing that he _hated,_ that hated _him,_ that made him feel so fucking angry he could stab himself in the heart just to make it _shut the fuck up._

Charon's voice came over his mangled tongue, not a growl or a snarl, but clearly defined words that made the monster stand up straighter. Made the monster look around the room, unsure why it was standing in a Metro with no gloves on, bleeding from its hands. Why it was out of ammunition and why it had been staring into the mirror.

Made it realize that its employer was nowhere in sight, and that it must return to her side as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Charon spoke the words to the monster and felt himself cease to exist.

It was as easy as that.

 _"Do Re Mi."_


	11. In Which Jericho is Civil

Note: This might work. I think this will work!

* * *

The group of people from Megaton reached the school and found out quickly that there were still raiders occupying the outside area. A short and violent exchange of bullets left Megaton the victor.

"What do you think we ought to do now, Deputy?" Simms asked Emily, shouldering his weapon and crossing his arms.

 _"Wh―"_ She stared up at him, and blinked. Asking her, she was sure, was some sort of test. Emily _never_ tested well. "I dunno."

"Make a guess, then."

Emily sighed and blinked her eyes rapidly in the heat of the day. Since she wasn't wearing a helmet, her eyes were half-blind and filled with dust. The school rose in front of them, pathetically blocking out the swirling devils that played about their feet, and she thought hard about how she would have gone about this sort of thing as her normal self.

If it were her―alone or with Char―she groaned and brought up her Pip-Boy, flicking the knobs until she reached the local map. "If it were me, I would use my Pip-Boy to map out the interior until I found―I guess, whatever the raiders were doing in the tunnels?"

"Good." Simms patted her heavily on the shoulder, knocking her off-balance for a moment. "Let's do that."

She led the way into the school, Simms and Jericho coming up on either side of her. Emily was steadfastly ignoring the old asshole, focusing more on Simms and the Pip-Boy maps. Jericho seemed to be ignoring her, too; at least, he wasn't staring at her ass again. She rolled her eyes and willed herself not to think about it.

They found the tunnels after a few moments' search. Simms examined the general area before he turned back to the group. "Jericho, Billy, me, and Emily are going down into the tunnels, to flush out any remaining raiders. Everyone else, stay here and keep eyes on both directions."

Emily sighed and moved down the tunnel, the men trailing behind her. It was rather boring until they reached a split in the path.

"Looks like the left might be a dead end," she said, squinting at the map. The green light reflecting off their faces made everyone look spooky. Emily smiled a little at that. It was hard for her to feel... _happy,_ right now, but small things still amused her.

"We'll all go left first, no use in splitting up," Simms said. "If it's a dead end we can turn around and come right back."

They moved left, down the tunnel. Another junction came up, and they ignored it. It didn't appear that there was anything living in the tunnels at all. A bit disappointing, even if she hated trying to shoot anything. Emily wasn't the best shot. Wasn't even a _good_ shot. But this was just _boring._

She grumbled under her breath. Not even anyone to talk to, really, since she didn't know how to start a conversation with any of the three that wouldn't be awkward as hell.

She frowned and looked down at her Pip-Boy, and the rumbling began. Billy was going on about something related to the stability of the tunnels, and why the raiders hadn't made it into the town, when the ceiling began to fall in.

Dust rose around her, she couldn't see, and a large rock hit her shoulder. Emily yelped and moved, and felt the ground trembling under her feet―

Someone pushed her out of the way, knocking her to the ground, and the ceiling collapsed around them.

Emily swore from her position on the ground, a heavy body lying across her back. She put her hands over her head and waited for the rumbling to stop.

* * *

"Emily!" Simms was yelling. "You alive in there?"

She uncovered her head, staring out at the ground in front of her. Various rocks and piles of dirt covered the immediate area, and her. Coughing, she went to push herself up and realized whoever was laying over her back was both unconscious and _not_ Sheriff Simms.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, using her hips to dislodge the body, shaking dirt out of her hair. A blood-splattered rock to her right brought her attention to the bleeding head of the old asshole, who had apparently pushed her out of the way of harm, and got a knock on the skull for it.

Shit. _Shit!_ She was trapped in this little corner of the tunnels with Jericho! ...And he was in a bad way. Blood poured from his head, covering his face and neck.

"I'm alive," Emily called, coughing. "Jericho got hurt, is Billy with you?"

"We're fine over here," Billy yelled. "Is that really a dead end?"

"Give me a minute!" Emily sat up, looking down at Jericho. _Really should just let him die, he's old, he's a bastard, definitely earned death at some point_ ―but she couldn't. It wasn't who she was. Reaching into a pocket, she pulled out a stimpak and moved his head into her lap, checking the skin where it was broken. Didn't seem his skull was cracked, just a nasty cut, maybe a concussion. She coughed, turned her head, and injected the stimpak into his neck.

"You dirty old man," she muttered, as he started coming around. "What _the hell_ were you thinking." She had to inject him twice just to get the blood to stop.

Jericho coughed and spat, raised a hand to rub his head, then opened his eyes to look at the blood. "Fuckin' _Christ,"_ he groaned, and his brown eyes met her blue ones.

She waited for the evil slow grin she knew should come, but it didn't. Jericho dropped his hand onto his chest and sat up, staring at the rocks between them and the others. After a moment he laid back down onto her lap and _then_ she saw the grin, and snorted in disgust.

"Oh, _fuck_ you," she muttered.

"How about later," he replied smugly, putting his head right onto her thigh and closing his eyes.

 _"Ugh!"_ She pushed him off of her lap and moved up from the ground. She marched down the tunnel a little way, then came back. "Yeah, it's a dead end, Billy!"

A muffled conversation between the sheriff and the merchant went on, then Simms called back, "Don't worry, we'll get you out!"

Emily looked down at her Pip-Boy and wiped dirt from her eyes, ignoring the ex-raider making pained noises on the floor. "Sheriff, there's something coming up the other tunnel," she said, watching the motion tracker. "You guys get out of here, we're fine! Deal with the threat first!"

"Be careful, Emily," Simms yelled back, in a tone that reminded Emily of her father. She sighed in defeat.

"I can handle this," she said, and turned back to Jericho. "You try anything, you old asshole―"

"Hey, now, I just saved your fuckin' _life,_ you little slut," he growled, rubbing his forehead.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You did. Thank you, Jericho," she said, angrily.

"Huh," he replied, laying himself flat onto the ground. "That's three goddamn times and I still get the bitch face."

 _"Thr―"_ She made a frustrated noise. "What the hell are you on about―"

Jericho held a bloodied hand up and counted off three fingers―starting with his middle, _of course,_ and Emily rolled her eyes at the man. "You was in my house when yours fell," he started. "Then you was gonna go running after it, and now this shit. You let me know when you wanna pay the tab, you can blow me anytime you want."

"Ugh, you are so disgusting," Emily said, crossing her arms and staring down at him. "Why you would _bother_ saving me, I don't even know."

"I might be a fuckin' horn dog, but I ain't no goddamn idiot," Jericho said. He made no move to get up from the ground. "Ain't nothin' to do 'round that shit heap but get drunk or stir trouble." He grinned at her. "You're real good at makin' shit less _boring."_

"Is there something wrong with your legs?" Emily asked, trying to change the subject. She did not want to go down that road with the asshole again.

"I'm fuckin' tired," he groaned, covering his eyes and rubbing them. "I ain't no sweet young thing like you."

"What did I _just_ sa―" she started, kicking his foot.

"Jesus, shut the fuck up," Jericho snarled. "Don't think you'd use your expensive shit on big bad me if you wasn't thinking sweet thoughts." He groaned and sat up.

Emily stared down at him and pressed her mouth together. "For your information, you ass―" She growled under her breath. "I'm not gonna let you bleed to death in some grimy old tunnel! That's something _you_ would do, thank you very much."

"Hah, I don't doubt it," he muttered. Emily glared at him.

Jericho was quiet for a minute, then picked up a pebble and rolled it in two fingers. "Look... you and me could have something if you would just give up this stupid _act."_ He sounded tired. Like all his―anger and male pride and whatever, was gone―like he was vulnerable, maybe.

She glared at him, wondering if it was a ploy. "Why in the _hell_ would I ever want _anything_ to do with you," she snapped. "You broke _my damn nose,_ you bast―"

"I paid for that!" he snapped right back. "You and your fuckin' loud mouth, telling that goddamn cowboy _sheriff_ I fucked you up!"

 _"You did!"_ she yelled, pulling back a leg and kicking him hard in the thigh. "You _―nnnnghhhh!"_ She kicked him again.

Jericho's head turned with a snap, and in a moment he was up off the ground, had a hand around her neck and shoulder and was pushing her into the wall. "Far as _I_ fuckin' see this―" he breathed on her face, God, he smelled like shit and bacterial infection "―we're _even._ You paid your debt for that goddamn zombie fuckin' with me. If you stop this stupid act you're playing at―" He breathed out onto her face and she gagged, covering her mouth. "I'll stop tryin' to fuck you up. _Deal?"_

"I didn't get you punched―" she sputtered out.

Jericho pushed her back into the wall harder. Emily let her hands fall to her sides and stared at his face, not two inches from hers. "You did what you fuckin' _wanted_ to do," he said, spitting out the words. "We ain't so different, you and me. Doin' what we want, gettin' into trouble. Thing is, _I_ can handle my shit. _You_ can't. Keep actin' a stupid little slut, and _you can't handle it."_

"That's not―" she said, and pressed her lips together. It hadn't occurred to her that her actions back then, would go so far. "I know I'm a slut," she managed. "Can't you call my by my _name,_ at least?"

"I can," he chuckled meanly. "I _won't,_ if you keep being a fuckin' bitch. You gotta _earn_ that shit."

"O- _kay,"_ she said, grumpily. He made no move to remove his hands. "O _-kay_ _!_ I'm sorry, Jericho."

"That's better," he said, relaxing his grip on her. "You being a damn slut is what got you into all this fuckin' trouble." Jericho's face moved closer to hers. "I respect that, you know. ...You."

Emily closed her eyes as Jericho moved his hand from her neck to her cheek and kissed her right on the mouth, softly. Was a lot more gentle than he'd ever been in the past. God _dammit_ , he knew his business―she felt her stomach bunching up and knew she was turned on. Why did she have to go and poke a stick at the only bastard in the wastes who was a bigger slut than _she_ was―

"I told you," Jericho said, mumbling into her mouth. "You give me a goddamn chance and you'll see. A man can change."

She stayed limp under his hands. Knew better than to start a fight. She'd told Simms she could handle it, and if she came out of the tunnel with another bruise... she could kiss any consolation he might have for her, goodbye. Really did need something to do with herself, beyond drinking herself stupid. And Simms was right, she owed the town a little more than she'd ever given it. All she'd ever given them before was the occasional business and too much _bullshit_ drama.

This drama with Jericho could end if they played nice, and maybe it wouldn't be... _that_ awful.

And... _dammit,_ she had a history of this sort of behavior. She couldn't change herself any more than she could _ever_ change―

"Fine," she said, around his lips. "I'll give you _one_ chance."

"That's a good girl," Jericho said, removing himself from her.

"Don't you go thinking this mean you can do whatever the fuck you _want,"_ Emily snapped, moving away. "I expect you to be civil. We'll see what happens."

"Been minding my p's and q's longer than you," he shot back. _"You_ play nice, _I'll_ play nice. Maybe we'll play together." He leered at her.

"What _-ever,"_ Emily grumbled. "Don't get your _hopes_ up."


	12. In Which Jericho Makes His Point

"Let's get the fuck outta here," Jericho said, moving away to the rocks that had fallen. He started to grab at the wall, trying to pull them out.

"Are you an idiot," Emily said, "or are you _trying_ to get killed?"

He shot her a glare. "Maybe I'm just tryin' to protect my investment," he grumbled, loosening a rock and shoving it to the ground with a grunt.

"Oh, what _-ever,"_ she groaned, and backed away from him. "Knock yourself out again and I'm _not_ giving you another stimpak."

Jericho laughed, grunting with effort. "Think you're such hot shit, don't ya?"

Emily fixed him with a glare. "Fuck you, you _know_ I am."

He laughed louder, turning to look at her. "See, this is what I fuckin' meant." His eyes swept up her body and he nodded, turning back to the rocks. "You drop the stupid act, and we're just _fine."_

She crossed her arms and watched him pulling at the rocks for a moment. _I dunno, I guess he's not as terrible as I made him out to be_ ―her brain kicked her in the forehead, reminding her of the shit he'd done. _Okay, he is terrible. But hell, he hasn't tried to kill me, like―or put me up on a goddamn pedestal, or whatever the hell Irving was up to―_

Emily sucked snot up into her head and breathed out slowly. She hadn't thought about either of those two for as long as she'd been drunk―like two weeks straight or something, she figured. Didn't want to start now, _fuck_ them, they both left her, and it would probably only break her heart again to think―she pushed the emotion away and locked it into a cage inside her mind, turning her back on it.

Hadn't had many thoughts about Butch, either. Dammit, what the hell was _wrong_ with her? Butch was dead and she couldn't even feel anything for him. Couldn't even bring herself to cry for him, and she _knew_ he deserved more than that. More than that little thread of guilt worming it's way up into her mind.

Emily stared at Jericho, watching him scraping his fingernails across the rocks, seeing him put entirely too much effort into trying to get free. Jericho was pretty strong, maybe not as strong as Ch―but he was an old man, and not a ghoul. He knew his shit in the wastes, was tough as hell to have lived to his old age. Knew what the hell he was doing with his rifle, that was for sure. Emily couldn't even line up a shot half the damn time without her arms trembling from the weight of the infiltrator.

And― _well,_ she'd thought way back when that he was a real man. He _was._ She'd never thought of him as anything else. Heard him talking to Nova once, thought that he was pretty sad at times. She didn't think his offer to take care of Nova was just fluff talk. That bit about having a lot of money, Emily snorted, yeah, _that_ was probably a lie, but...

He wanted _more_ than just sex, if he was asking Nova to go with him. A man didn't ask a woman to live with him just because of sex―not if he could have it anytime he wanted, beforehand. She knew Jericho really liked sex, but so did _she._ Shamefully so, sometimes. Emily stomped a foot down on the memories of what he'd done to her, and held it down. They were even, now. He was right about that.

If he was willing to try to get along, maybe she ought to _try_ too.

"Do you ever get lonely," she asked, quietly.

"What?" The ex-raider's head swiveled to stare at her. "Look, you gonna fuckin' _help_ me with this, or just watch me strut my stuff?" Emily flushed and he turned back to the wall.

"I mean... do you ever just need a _friend_ or something," she said, sucking snot up into her head.

"Like I'd need a goddamn _friend,"_ he muttered, grunting and pulling at another rock. "All I need is some booze and a warm hand. Preferably one that ain't _mine."_

"You're so gross," Emily mumbled, moving forward to help him.

"Like you're any better," he grumbled. "Fuckin' about with your _monster."_

"How does that qualify as civil," she shot at him, dislodging a rock.

Jericho laughed and coughed, spitting out a wad of snot. "Tit for fuckin' tat, _Emily."_

She was startled, dropped the rock she was holding and hissed out a curse when it hit her foot and smashed her toes. Jericho just laughed at her, of course. After a moment of limping around she moved back to the rocks and started moving them again.

"There's a hole―" she leaned over the rocks and looked through. Could see just barely to the other side.

"Get outta the way, let me get it." Jericho pulled her back by one arm and started moving rocks out of the hole, throwing them behind himself.

"Gonna hurt yourself, old man," Emily poked, pushing her hair behind an ear.

"Knock that shit off," Jericho said. He was all business, now. All tough as nails and not putting up with teasing. Emily sighed and leaned against the wall, watching him.

After a minute or two, Jericho motioned for her to come over. When she did, he grabbed her shoulder and pushed her through the hole, head first.

 _"Ow!_ You rotten _motherfu―"_ Emily fell out of the hole after Jericho laid a hand right on her crotch and shoved her out.

"Shut the fuck up, stupid," he yelled back, and kept removing rocks. "Got your ass out. Hah, you owe me _four_ times, now!"

Emily stood and brushed herself off, rubbing the scrape on the arm she'd gotten from going through. She lifted her Pip-Boy and looked at it. Nothing on the motion tracker, except for her and Jericho. She moved back and helped him make the hole wider.

"Hell, I'm surprised you fit through that with your enormous tits," he grumbled, after he'd pulled himself through.

"I'm taking that as a compliment," she growled, staring at him. "But you have to stop making comments like that, asshole."

Jericho just snickered, shoved her forward, and started off through the tunnel again, back to the junction.

* * *

Simms and Billy were back at the beginning of the tunnels, and were surprised to see them. Dusty as all hell and sore from having rocks fall on them, and Jericho was complaining he didn't get to shoot anyone. Emily rolled her eyes at him and followed Simms out of the school.

"Wasn't nothing back there, but we've got a plan," Simms told her, as they were heading back home. "Billy is going to set explosives and collapse the tunnel."

"That's why he's staying behind?"

The sheriff turned and nodded. "Got to make sure. Listen, Emily..."

"I'm fine," she said, tiredly. "We were both using our best manners. No one did anything stupid, not even Jericho."

"Glad to hear that." Simms let out a relieved noise. "I was mighty afraid for a moment, there."

"I don't think he'll do anything _that_ stupid, again." Emily rubbed her nose. "We had a talk. Agreed on some things. It went about as well as could be expected for the old ass." She shot Jericho a glance, and saw him watching her ass again. Emily glared at him, and turned back to Simms.

"I'm still not all that comfortable coming to stay with you, sheriff," she added, slowly.

"Where else you plan to go?" Simms asked, plainly.

 _"Well..."_ Emily sighed. "I dunno, I just don't think it's gonna work all that great."

"You stay at my place tonight," he replied, "and tomorrow, after we all eat breakfast and go break up a fight or two, you can figure out something."

Emily rubbed her nose again. Damn dust itched. She'd almost forgotten how dusty the area outside of the Vault was. "I could just go and stay at Moriarty's."

"And get fleeced of all your caps in less than a week," Simms said, amused. He jammed his hat further down on his head. "Man's got business sense."

Emily chuckled, dryly. "Yeah, I know. But it doesn't look right on you, sheriff. Me moving in. Between my reputation and your― _umm―"_ She bit down on her tongue and looked down, feeling guilty.

"Manya told you, then," Simms said, looking out at the gates of Megaton.

"Wouldn't trust anyone else to give the truth," Emily admitted. "I get that you don't want to talk about it."

"No, I don't," he answered, striding forward and ahead of her. "And I don't rightly care what people will think of your reputation, because we're about to fix that."

Emily watched him walking faster, and debated on speeding herself up to match it, but figured he probably needed a moment to himself. She fell in with the others, ending up beside Jericho and crinkling her nose at the smell.

"Damn, man, you _stink,"_ she muttered.

"You don't smell great, _neither,"_ he chuckled. Seemed like he was in a good mood. Didn't curse or call her a name.

"Don't you ever bathe?" Emily pinched her nose and breathed shallowly.

"Might, if I had a reason to." He looked over at her, hiking a corner of his mouth up. "Maybe I do."

Emily ignored him. They made their way into Megaton, and started down the path. Jericho turned to face her, walking sideways. "You telling tales to the cowboy again?"

"I was _trying_ to figure where I'm _sleeping,"_ she snapped. "Simms is gonna put me up in his place for tonight."

Jericho stopped and grabbed her arm, holding her tight. "What's _this_ shit?" he asked, his voice getting hard.

"Just somewhere to sleep, man," she replied.

"Nah," he said, and pulled her closer. _"Nah,_ I don't fuckin' _think_ so. You don't go anywhere but where _I_ go, you hear me?"

"What, you think just 'cause we got a truce, I'm gonna play all _friendly_ again?" Emily growled, scraping her nails across his hand.

"This ain't a _truce,"_ he hissed. "I ain't lettin' some goddamn idiot in a fuckin' stupid-as-shit hat step in on _my_ territory, you hear me?" His fingers dug into her arm tighter.

"Since when am _I_ your _'territory'―"_

"Since you gave me a fuckin' chance! Are you really that dumb, or did you lose your brains on the way back?" Jericho released her arm with a slight shove. "What did you _think_ I meant, askin' shit like that!"

"Well, I sure as _hell_ didn't think you meant we should _go steady!"_ she snarled, stomping down the path toward the bomb. "What the _hell,_ Jericho―"

" _Goddamn―_ you're about as _dumb_ as that idiot sheriff," Jericho came up behind her, put an arm around her waist, and crushed her to his side.

Emily swore to herself. This was definitely not what she'd _intended_ _―_

"You listen to me, Emily. I ain't no goddamn _pushover._ I _take care_ of shit. I'll take care of _you,_ but you gotta behave. Your fuckin' stupid _slut_ act ain't behavin'," he breathed into her ear. She jerked away and swore out loud. Fucker licked her ear, _gross._

"I'm not your damn _property!_ And Simms is my _boss,_ you _idiot!"_ She tried to pry his fingers off her side. "You're acting like I don't know how to keep my pants on, and that _isn't fair!"_

"It is true, though," someone else said, and Emily's head whipped up and around to see who would say something like that. "Hello, Emily," Irving said, sitting at the counter of the Brass Lantern.

Wha― _why was he_ _here_ ―he'd left her at Rivet City, said he was done with―thought she'd _never_ see him again― _...Oh, dammit,_ Emily groaned to herself. If he was up to his old tricks, she'd get kicked out of town faster than Moriarty would grab at a lost cap―

A shiver went through her, then, and Jericho picked up on it. "Who's _this_ fuckin' asshole?" he asked in a low voice.

"Someone I know," she replied, finally prying his hand off her side and narrowing her eyes at him. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Irving?" she asked, making sure he understood she wasn't happy.

"I heard about your house," he said, putting his cheek in his hand and leaning onto the counter, staring at her. Nothing in his face to indicate any emotion. Completely casual about the whole thing.

Emily sighed, painfully. _"Yeah,"_ she said.

"I see you're doing just fine, though," he said, and turned back to the counter.

 _Ignoring_ her. After all that craziness in Annapolis―Emily narrowed her eyes at him. If _that_ was how he was gonna be...

"Thank you for being concerned," she said, fending off Jericho's hand. "I'll see you around, Irving."

Emily walked back up the hill and away from him, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her.

She couldn't admit how stupid she'd been about Irving, even to herself.


	13. In Which Emily Pushes Too Far

Note: This is why we can't have nice things.

* * *

Jericho watched Emily walking away, admiring her ass again. Hell, he couldn't help it. That was _his_ ass, now. No matter what she said about it. He'd earned it, playing up all nice-like, cajoling her to give him another chance. He wasn't gonna be that nice, _ever again._

It hurt when she suggested he might be lonely―fucking Christ was he _ever,_ but couldn't tell her that. She might get ideas, ideas like maybe she could manipulate him. Maybe if he hadn't had to fight her, to get her back for fucking with him, he might be willing to be her daddy. But not now. Not now that she thought _she_ could set the rules.

The stupid bitch, thought she was the best fucking pussy in the world. Not like he couldn't get any pussy he wanted, anytime he wanted. Wasn't the point. He knew how to play her little game, and he'd gone slow with her in the beginning. Slow because she was young enough to be his goddamn granddaughter and because he figured she wouldn't want to run after some old fucker unless she was desperate or got a taste of the goods.

She'd had her taste, _and_ she was desperate. Didn't seem like she liked it, on the outside. Hah, but he'd gotten her _good._ She'd come back, running. Maybe she would beg again. Made him hard, to think about her wanting him like that. She needed someone like _him._ To keep her stupid slut ass in line.

He watched until she'd gone up the hill and was out of sight, probably going to look for that dumbass sheriff. That was something he was gonna have to be real firm about, no matter what the fucking asshole said. Him and Emily were gonna be just _fine,_ from here on out. She'd get her shapely ass taken care of and he'd get his, whenever he fucking felt like. She could fight it, if she wanted, she liked doing that. He'd heard her arguing with that goddamn zombie, he knew how she was. Starting fights because she like to pick at people.

Jericho's head turned to look at this young man sitting at the counter of the Brass Lantern, eating his food all casual-like. Acting like he hadn't just insulted Emily, like she didn't mean nothing to him. Oh, she meant _something._ He knew. She didn't act like she was worried or play all polite if she wasn't trying to hide that something had gone on with them two.

He moved to the counter, looked up at Jenny and motioned her over. "You go make sure I get my steak well-done," he said, pointedly, palming her a handful of caps. "You know what I like."

Jenny shot the other a glance and disappeared into the building. Probably would come back out with Andy, after a minute or two. Jericho knew that bastard had no love for anything about this shit heap. Particularly no love for some washed up old ex-raider who'd tried his luck at his little sister and gotten a nutshot and a black eye for his troubles.

Jericho chuckled. Stupid cowboy sheriff was the only thing that saved his life, that night. Kept Andy from killing him when he found him with his hands all over Jenny. The sheriff had it right, left him to his own devices after that. Hadn't spoken to him on a professional level until Emily spent the night in his shack.

Then it was all, _"You broke her goddamn nose, you mangy piece of shit"_ and _"If I see Emily with any new bruises after this, you'll be leaving with a hole in your head, and by leaving I mean being buried somewhere no one knows but me"_.

Jericho snorted. She'd _better_ be fucking telling that asshole that she wasn't sleeping in his fucking house. That shit wouldn't fly. Not with him. Not with that stupid cowboy telling him he was as good as _dead_ if he so much as looked at her.

Two could play at that game. He was too old to miss this chance. Had to protect the investment, like he told the stupid bitch.

Jericho turned to face the black man. What'd she call him, Irving. _Fuckin' stupid name._ "I ain't gonna tell you more than once," he said, threateningly. _"You stay the fuck away from Emily."_

"...You do realize that she doesn't want you?" the little shit said, without looking over. "She seemed pretty clear about that."

"Fuck you know what _she_ wants," Jericho said, smacking a hand on the counter. "You stay _the fuck away_ from her. She ain't none of your business."

Irving chuckled, and examined his spoon, looking closely at the things in his soup. "Well," he said, in a knowing tone, "you know how she is. I can't make any promises."

Jericho's hand shot out and knocked the spoon right out of his hands. He grabbed the little shit around the collar and pulled him awkwardly to the side. "I'll make sure she don't go anywhere fuckin' near you. If I catch you around her―" He flicked the man in the nose with a grimy finger, making him blink in surprise. "You won't be so fuckin' _pretty_ once I gouge your _goddamn eyes out!"_

The idiot just stared at him. Jericho moved his face closer, curling his lip at the man. Irving coughed and gagged a little, then covered his mouth. "No wonder," he muttered, from under his hand. "No wonder she never wanted me." His eyes fell.

Jericho spat a laugh in the man's face. Oh, _now_ he got it. Nothing went on between them two but some idiot boy following her around and making her life difficult. Emily had been nervous because she didn't want this fucking puppy following her. She was all cold heart when dealing with him, took off as soon as she could.

"You ain't fucked her?" Jericho shoved him back onto his stool and slapped the counter top, laughing. "She's about the _easiest_ fuckin' cookies in the world and you ain't even gotten a hand in that jar? _Fuck!"_ He grinned at the revelation. "Guess I don't gotta worry about you, after all." He turned around and leaned backward onto the counter, letting his laughter fade away.

The man stared at him, blankly. "I wouldn't worry, if I were you. About Emily." His voice grew more and more dangerous as he spoke. "You should be worried, though. About _me."_

"Bullshit ain't gonna get you very far, kid," Jericho said, shaking his head.

"We'll see." Irving stood up and moved away from the counter.

"You better fuckin' _listen_ to me, you little shit! Stay the fuck away from her!" Jericho called out, as he left. _Fuckin' idiot._ Jericho kept shaking his head. _Retarded little asshat!_

* * *

About an hour later, Jericho woke up from a nap and left house to go find Emily. His knees popped when he got out of bed, anymore. It was fucking _annoying,_ knowing how old he was getting. Fucking annoying to think he couldn't keep himself from getting that way. To keep himself from needing a stupid nap because he was so fucking old.

He remembered being young. He was a ruthless little shit, a lot like Emily, whoring it up and being unrepentant about killing bastards. Except everyone else had been a bastard and he was only out for the money that kept him in booze and pussy. Didn't give a shit about the girls, they were just there for the ride. Something he learned to appreciate, now that he was older and couldn't run half as fast as he used to. Or stand as straight, even. He was tough, but he was fucking _old._

And _hell,_ it was in his name. Who cared what his name had been, before. Goddamn bible thumpers up in the church gave him a new one when he got his ass into town and tried to make himself behave. Mother Maya said he was as enduring as the fucking walls of Jericho, whatever the fuck that meant. He didn't go back, after they'd helped get him his house. Gave him a place to sleep until he had another, and he didn't even fucking care about them after that.

Didn't fucking need 'em. He had what he wanted, now. Now needed to get that, and bring her _home._ Bring her home and lay into her across the table again, make her behave.

The sun was starting to set and the town losing color as the light failed, and he walked 'round the sheriff's place. Simms wasn't out running around, so he must be at home, and chances were Emily was in there with him. Jericho stood outside the house for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to say so he didn't get that stupid cowboy all riled up.

He knocked on the door and Simms answered it. "Something going on?" the man asked, crossing his arms and staring at him. "Or is this a _social_ call."

Aw, hell, he already had his hackles up. Jericho breathed out, slowly, trying not to get uppity. "She told you we made up, right," Jericho said. "So, I'm _behavin'._ Gimme a minute with her."

"I was made aware that an agreement was reached," Simms said, blandly. "You want to talk to my deputy, Jericho? We're eating dinner."

"Yeah, I fuckin' wanna talk to her," he said, getting testy. "It's _important."_

Simms shut the door slowly, and it was a few minutes before Emily stepped outside, staring at him.

"What do you want?" she asked, angrily. "I'm in the middle of an awkward dinner and I'd rather get it over with as quickly as possible."

"Don't you pull that _shit_ with me," Jericho said, grabbing her elbow and pulling her away from the door. Simms might be listening through the holes in the walls, for all he knew. Probably was watching, at any rate. "Did you tell the cowboy that you ain't stayin' here?"

"I―" She sighed and rolled her eyes. "No."

"Don't you fuckin' _listen?"_ Jericho growled. "I told you―"

Emily pulled her elbow out of his grip, staring at him. "I haven't been able to talk to Simms about it, yet," she said, sullenly. "Look, if I tell him you want me to― _whatever_ it is, you want―I can kiss any hope of keeping this job. I really _need_ this, Jericho."

"You don't need nothin' but me," he said, moving his hand down to her ass and grabbing a handful of flesh, pulling her closer. "You go and tell him you _quit_ that fuckin' deputy shit."

"No," she said. She moved away from him, putting a hand on his chest. "No, I want to do this. Besides, I promised―"

"What, you think you're gonna be hotter shit if you got some power?" Jericho snorted, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her closer. "Nah. Nah, this is bullshit, you're comin' to my place, you _know_ you are."

"Jer―" Emily narrowed her eyes at him and looked at his hand on her wrist. "You think it's a good idea to start _that_ shit again? We'll both be out on our asses if you don't knock it off."

"Fine," Jericho said, releasing her. "But you tell that asshole that you're not sleepin' here, and you _won't_ be, ever. I ain't _havin' it."_

"When the hell did I say we were a couple?" Emily put her hands on her hips. "You said we could have something, but I didn't _agree_. I just told you I'd give you a chance! I didn't say I'd move into that _dump_ you call home!"

"You wanna go over this again? I fuckin' _told_ y―" Jericho's head jerked around as the door to Sheriff Simms' house opened.

"Emily," Simms said, leaning in the doorway. "You going to be much longer?"

"I'm done here," she said, coldly, and moved back toward the house. "Good night, Jericho. I'll see you around."

They went into the house and left him out in the dark.

Oh, she was fucking _playing_ with him, again. Jericho's eyes lowered into angry slits and he ground his teeth. She was fucking with him, _again,_ and this time―

 _This_ time, when he got her alone in his shack, she wasn't gonna be leaving alive.

He stomped off without another thought.


	14. In Which Emily is Understood

Note: I am really sorry I haven't been able to get this on a schedule. I was caught up with GATG and then got stumped on this chapter until now. Hope it gets back on a regular posting schedule. (It's about to get exciting, though!)

* * *

He was going to have to kill the man, he realized that.

Irving watched Jericho as he walked around town, paid attention to what he did. The old man had very little going for him, and no friends. He was paranoid and obscene, and his interactions with people in the town were laced with brevity and hate.

It was just as well that Irving had planned to make the old man suffer, for having been Emily's choice. It was a bad choice. She _knew_ it was a bad choice. She knew Irving _knew._ And she had to know how he would react.

Last time she'd knocked herself out in her effort to stop him from hurting the ghoul. This time, if she so much as tried to defend this nasty old man―like she had that walking hulk of _rot_ and pus―

He didn't know what he might do, to stop her from that, but he _would_ stop her.

Irving watched her talking to the sheriff, talking to people around the town. She cared about this place, so he did. He wouldn't upset people over some jealousy, or cause the town to fall into chaos. But if she tried to prevent him from protecting her in the only way he _could,_ right now... she would not succeed.

He'd planned to make the old man realize she was too much effort for him to want to be with her. To make him give her up voluntarily. Irving was a master of stealth, he knew how to creep around and set traps. Nothing lethal, of course. Just a few "pranks".

But after that conversation with him at the counter, well... and after he'd learned _other_ things, things that made him wonder why the sheriff in town hadn't just shot the old man―Irving discarded the plan he had been working on, and began a new one. What had started out as an attempt to irritate and infuriate the old bastard suddenly changed into an assassination.

The woman at the Brass Lantern had told him a little about Jericho. Told him that he was not particularly well-liked in town, but was tolerated because of his ability to help defend against the dangers of the outside world. She'd also detailed a little more about what had happened with Emily's house falling off the crater side, and he learned that Emily had been spending the night with Jericho when it happened.

"Probably the only thing that saved her life," Jenny muttered, staring at the undetonated bomb in the middle of town. "Damn shame she was even there. I don't know why she would mess around with that asshole."

Irving stared across the way, too, but he wasn't looking at the bomb. He was staring blankly at the ground, trying to wrap his head around _why_ Emily would keep going after these men. Men that were _filth._ Why she wanted a man like this Jericho, who was too old for her and had breath so bad it could stagger a _Brahmin._ Did she _enjoy_ the smell? What was it about the condition of decay that she enjoyed, so much? She had loved her rotting ghoul and now this foul-tongued old man, and the only thing they had in common was their _stink._

Well, that and the fact that they were both incredibly _old._ The sheriff in town was older, as well, but Irving had been told that he and Emily had a professional relationship. That she was only staying with him so that Simms could keep an eye on her because she had come out of Jericho's house with a bloodied face.

Thank God for local gossip.

Irving stared at the ground and felt his pocket full of caps, absently. Emily had been hurt by that asshole, had her face bashed in, and she hadn't tried to kill him. Why, Irving couldn't say; he'd never had the opportunity to get to know her unless she was at the Citadel or they were undertaking a mission for the Brotherhood. He'd never really seen her as a civilian, come to think of it.

He sighed to himself. Seeing Emily on a mission was one of the reasons he'd wanted to _protect_ her, so badly. She was barely decent at combat. She'd had that sniper rifle for as long as he'd known her, but he had rarely seen her shoot accurately with it. Maybe it was why she hadn't defended herself against this bastard attacking her. Maybe she thought she would lose the fight, and so she'd been trapped by Jericho's obvious lust for her.

It _sounded_ correct. Emily was in trouble, again. She needed _help,_ and Irving wanted to give her that help.

But she was also being helped by the sheriff of Megaton. That one, he understood her. Her teasing behavior was going to keep happening, and so he was keeping an eye on her. This Lucas Simms understood more about Emily than Irving did, _and_ he fit the necessary qualifications for her to want a relationship with him. Older, meaner, entirely capable of protecting her. Jenny had told him that Simms placed himself in charge of Emily when she stumbled from Jericho's house, naked and bleeding.

So... she wanted someone who acted aggressively. Someone who could make her behave, who would control her? _Damn_ him, he should have taken control when they came back to D.C.―he'd always been so damn _shy_ around her―

God, he was going to kill himself with this _torture._

She definitely wanted an older man; Irving was not as young as she was but he was at least ten years younger than the sheriff, thirty less than Jericho, and God only _knew_ how many years younger than her ghoul had been.

He hadn't thought about his age for some time, and now that he was, it made him sick to his stomach. He'd given up a fifteen-year-long career in the Brotherhood of Steel because of her. He would _gladly_ have given it up, before Annapolis, if she would have asked; being forced out of the Citadel because she stepped in and destroyed Pre-War technology―even if her godawful _zombie_ had been the one who actually performed that deed―Irving rubbed his temples.

Their actions had ruined any chances the Brotherhood might have to advance its goals. It had been his duty to collect the tech, and he _failed._ Not only had she made him lose face against his people, she had allowed her ghoul to cause him to fail in his main objective. The collection and implementation of Pre-War technology, in order to further mankind's progress across the wasteland.

He closed his eyes. It didn't _matter._ In the end, all he wanted was Emily. Wanted her at his side, but it would probably _never_ happen.

 _And_ he wanted her to acknowledge that he was the best choice, but God knew if she would. Irving _was_ her best option and she _knew_ it, but she deliberately chose to ignore his attention. He would do _anything_ for her, but she wanted someone―someone who would take _control,_ rather than let her be in charge.

He rubbed his eyes and looked up at the sky, gauging the time. It would be a few hours until sunset. Irving did all his best work in the dark, so he had a few hours to make a plan, and all night to follow through with it.

Until then... he would recon. Watch her. Watch _him._ And _plan._

He stood up and left the Brass Lantern for the second time that day, to plot the murder of a man who would not be terribly missed, and who _deserved_ to die.

* * *

Emily retreated into the sheriff's home in the evening. Irving watched her from up on the railing, holding a bottle of water and staring out over the town. He saw her moving about the town, and he'd been keeping an eye on Jericho's house. The old bastard went in about two hours ago and hadn't come out, so he was probably sleeping or eating his own dinner.

Irving knew that Emily had been invited to stay with the sheriff. From the way she was acting, she was concerned about it; possibly because of her nature, but Irving had also gathered the idea from people around town that the sheriff had a checkered past. Something that the residents weren't willing to discuss with a stranger.

The sheriff didn't seem like a bad man. Irving might be friendlier to him, if Emily weren't around. But he wouldn't be here at _all,_ if it weren't for her.

God, he was _miserable._

His eyes caught motion, tracked the old bastard leaving his home. Watched him stumbling over the dirt where her house had been, now a mess of pipes jutting out and a half-made walkway constructed over the empty spot. Jericho tripped and caught himself as he hopped over the large pipes up near the town entrance, then stood and dusted himself off.

He stared at the sheriff's house for a long time, before walking up to the door. Irving moved himself down to the lower part of town, then walked up onto the railing above the sheriff's home.

A knock on the door. The sheriff speaking in low tones to the old man. Heard Emily talking. Stilled himself on the railing. Listened carefully to what was happening.

"Don't you fuckin' listen? I told you―"

"Look, if I tell him you want me to―whatever it is, you want―"

"You don't need nothin' but me."

Irving closed his eyes in pain. It was obvious that Jericho wanted to own her like those slaves she'd tried so hard to free. But that was what she seemed to want―to be _owned._ It didn't make much sense to Irving.

"Nah, this is bullshit, you're comin' to my place, you know you are."

"You think it's a good idea to start that shit again? We'll both be out on our asses if you don't knock it off."

Maybe the sheriff was smarter than Irving had given him credit for, if he'd threatened to oust the two of them. If Emily were gone from Megaton with only that old asshole to keep her company―he groaned internally. It would be easier for him to kill the man, out in the wastes, but Emily would be upset if she had to leave. She truly cared about this town.

"When the hell did I say we were something? You said we could have something, but I didn't ever agree to it."

He knew that feeling. It _hurt._ It hurt like a thousand lasers through one's chest, like the pain of being crushed to death by a falling building. Irving breathed out and glanced down toward the sound of their voices. He couldn't see what was going on, but he didn't need to.

He knew what Emily was up to. _Same as ever._

"You wanna go over this again? I fuckin' told y―"

The sheriff interrupted and Irving waited patiently. After a moment he watched the old bastard walking away, talking to himself in low tones and acting agitated. He focused his attention on the man, slowly pulling out his laser rifle and aiming it down into the center of town.

There weren't many people out and about right now. His best bet was to silently kill the old man, then go sleep in the common house and wait for morning.

Irving squeezed his finger on the trigger, lining up his shot. He exhaled, narrowed his eyes, and _waited._

The town gate opened, loudly screeching that someone was entering. Irving swore under his breath, lowered the rifle and put it on his back. Turned his head to see who was entering, like the old bastard was doing.

Emily's ghoul walked through the gates.

Irving sighed, and walked away from the railing.

 _Why couldn't it ever be perfect?_


	15. In Which Emily Cries

Note: Continuing my apology, here is another chapter right away.

* * *

Charon entered Megaton, with little on his mind but the pressing urge to find his employer. He noticed immediately that her house was missing. Just gone, even the supports that would have held it up on the side of the crater. It was unusual, and he was not sure how to react to it.

He had to find her. She should be here; she was not at the Citadel, and she was not at the memorial where her father had died. The only other place he could think she might be was here, where her home was.

Where her home should have been. Charon turned to look down into the town. No one seemed to be around, except for one familiar ugly face that he rightfully wished was not there. Jericho, on the hill, looking up at him. Charon stared at him, his face impassive.

Jericho stared right back at him without any expression. Then a switch was hit, and his face split into the largest shit-eating grin that Charon had ever had the displeasure to see. Something Ahzruhkal might have evinced, if his face had not been rotting right off his bones. It reminded him of why he was glad to have shot him.

Charon's eyes turned to slits as the old ex-raider rambled up the dirt hill toward him. Stood there, silent as he had ever been, waiting for the man to say something. He could not react to the man other than to stare him down―not without a direct order from Emily, or unless Emily was threatened by him.

But Emily was not here. Charon had not found her.

"You looking for the slut?" Jericho asked, laughing and coughing at the same time. He patted his chest with a fist and grinned wider. If that were possible.

Charon growled threateningly. A verbal attack on Emily, while annoying, was not cause for violence against the grimy bastard. As much as he _wished_ it were. "Where is Emily," he asked, baring his teeth.

"She's right _there,_ fuck, you go blind?" Jericho gestured with one hand up the hill. "Swear to _God,_ fuckin' _zombies―"_

As soon as Charon turned to see what he was pointing at he heard the slick noise of a knife being unsheathed, and jerked himself back to the ex-raider at the same time the knife came down.

Up to the hilt in his neck, down into the flesh behind his collarbone. Had to give the man some credit, he picked an extremely good spot to stab someone. It had severed his carotid artery and pierced the top of his lung, blood gushing hotly onto his leather armor. Charon went numb from shock, felt the trembling of his lung muscle, trying to expand―

It surprised him. He stared at the knife for a moment longer than he ought to have, completely taken aback by the attack and the physical effects. His hand jerked upward to grab at his own knife, much too slow. It was a fatal wound, he was going to bleed out―

Jericho reacted quicker. His foot came out and kicked Charon's legs out from under him, followed up with a solid kick to the ass, knocking him down the hill. Charon grunted, tucked his left arm under him, and let gravity carry him all the way to the bottom. Started to feel lightheaded, needed―

The bomb. The water was irradiated there. Charon glanced up at it, his vision wavering, remembering Emily had complained about the batty redhead's experiments and how she had asked her to get radiation sickness once. He turned his head back to see where Jericho was and received a hard kick to the side of the head.

 _"That's_ for my fuckin' _ear!"_ Jericho yelled, and drew his foot back for another kick. "And _this_ one's for―"

Charon pushed himself into a roll and moved closer to the irradiated pool. The blood was everywhere, now, making his hands slippery as he weakly lifted an arm to fend off the ex-raider. He felt dizzy, spinning like that―because of the blood he was losing, which covered the ground like only a fatal wound did. He had to get to the water, fast.

Jericho moved closer and Charon pressed his mouth together. Well, there was more than one way to end this―he reached up, whipped the knife out, and threw it from the ground at Jericho. The ex-raider jerked to the side to avoid it, and Charon pushed himself into the water with one powerful motion.

Radiation healing felt like the worst fucking pain in the world―Charon ducked his shoulder into the water, holding his neck closed with one hand, and let the blood get washed away, felt the burning, gritted his teeth in pain. Had been a long time since he had an injury that severe.

"No, you fuckin' _don't!"_ Jericho growled, stomping into the water and pushing Charon under the surface, The man bent over the ghoul, holding him down with both hands, his thumb pressing into the wound on his shoulder. Charon fought the urge to groan in pain; he needed the air in his lungs.

Jericho didn't realize the radiation in the water would heal him, if he was trying to drown him. It was _not_ a smart move.

Charon was patient. He could hold his breath for a lot longer than it would take for the wound to heal―and if Jericho didn't remove his thumb from his shoulder, the flesh would probably heal around it. That was going to hurt when it came out―because Charon was going to rip that hand right off his arm once he was at full strength, once the shock wore off.

He was patient. Went still under the water. Jericho laughed, his voice and face distorted by the motion of the ripples. Charon's eyes never blinked, staring up at him.

Suddenly his knees shot up out of the water and kicked the ex-raider in the side, causing him to release the ghoul in surprise. Jericho fell forward into the water, thrashing, and Charon simply shoved him to the side and stood up.

He put one boot on the ex-raider's chest, holding him under the water. He stared into the murky liquid as Jericho's arms and legs struck out at him, then grabbed out and pulled the man's arm up and away, dislocating it swiftly. Bubbles from the man's unheard cry rose in the water. Charon watched, impassively.

"What th―! _Stop, Charon!"_ A shriek that spiked into his brain, a voice he knew. A pain to remind him he must obey. _Emily._

His foot lifted from the man's chest, dropped the arm. Charon turned his head in a swift motion, shaking off water, to stare at her.

 _"What the hell are you doing here?!"_ she asked, in a disbelieving tone. The sheriff was standing behind her, moved forward to help the man out of the water. Jericho kicked out and thrashed, splashing water everywhere, cursing and spitting and hacking. Charon's eyes never left Emily as he moved out of the water to face her.

 _"Answer_ me," she said, angrily. "What the _hell_ is going _on?!"_ Her hands went to her hips, her eyes hard on his.

"I was attacked. I defended myself." Charon's hand went to his neck and felt the wound. It was hard to tell what the injury had been, once the radiation kicked in, but there was a visible scar line.

 _"Bu―"_ Jericho coughed and spat up a wad of watery snot, jerking his good arm out of the sheriff's grasp. _"Bullshit!"_ He turned to the sheriff. "I say one fuckin' bad word and he tried to rip my goddamn arm off!" He motioned at his arm, limp and loose.

Emily was staring at Charon, now, and he met her gaze without expression. She looked very sad, at first, wiped her eyes of tears. Her face swept back toward anger, soon enough. She set her mouth and narrowed her eyes, glancing over at Jericho and back to him.

"He threw a fuckin' _knife_ at me, Simms!" Jericho was yelling, wiping his hands off on his jacket. "Fuckin' _tryin' to drown me―"_

Charon stared at Emily. She opened and closed her mouth, then looked down at Charon's armor, the condition that it was in. He was aware it was in poor condition; his exploits in the wastes while he was without the contract had nearly destroyed it. He waited for her to speak, so that he could tell her he needed it replaced.

She did not speak, not to him. She looked over at the sheriff and Jericho, and frowned. "Sheriff Simms," she said, gesturing to him. "Come here for a moment."

Simms moved over to them, shooting a look at Jericho. "What is it, Emily," he said. Charon's mouth twitched. Had never heard the black man call her with such familiarity, before. It meant something, and he was not sure what.

"I'm almost certain that Jericho attacked first," she said, glancing up at Charon.

"I know he did," Simms said, in a low voice. "The way your ghoul acted toward him in the past, I'm not surprised."

"He's not _my_ ghoul," Emily said, looking back to Simms. "I don't have anything to do with―"

"You are my employer," Charon said, forcing himself to speak. "I will do as you wish."

She flinched and backed away, staring up at him. _"Wh―"_ Charon kept his eyes on her. "Oh, fuck _me!"_ she whined, and turned away. Walked a few steps, then covered her face. Simms looked up at the ghoul, raised an eyebrow, and moved to Emily's side.

She was crying, now. Charon put his hands behind his back and watched her, feeling annoyed. Despite what had gone on between them, in the past, he could not feel the emotional link they had shared, once. This left his memory with swathes of perplexing conversations, times spent with Emily that he did not comprehend, and his own actions toward her. It all made him very confused, and so he had ignored it.

This state she was in, he did not comprehend; after his return to her as his rightful employer, he should be met with a more grateful expression. She had been without his guardianship for almost half a year. It was a wonder she was _alive,_ given her level of combat readiness.

Simms turned his gaze back onto the ghoul and patted Emily on the shoulder, then moved away to talk with Jericho in low tones. Charon's eardrum caught part of the conversation, and he gathered it was not good news for Jericho.

Charon stared at Emily, again. At the back of her neck, where her hair tumbled over the side, like she had worn it since he knew her. It didn't make much sense to him, though he understood it made her attractive to others. For some reason that annoyed him further, though he could not tell himself exactly why.

"Goddammit," Emily said, wiping her face repeatedly, sniffling and making a mess of her sleeves. _"Goddammit!"_

Charon moved up behind her, standing and waiting. She blew out a long breath, then turned around and flinched at his closeness. Her hand went to her neck, twitching slightly. She still felt the ill effects of his strangling her, in accordance with the conditioning. He must apologize.

"I regret that my actions caused you harm," he said, evenly. It was all he could say.

She looked down and flushed, rubbing her collarbone. "How did you get back under the contract, Charon?" she asked, cautiously.

"Unsure," he replied. "There was a mirror involved. I am confused by the thought process relating to it." That was true; he did not understand _why_ he would put himself back under contract, if he was free. It did not make much sense.

"Y―" Emily sniffled, looked up at him, and made a confused face. "You _hate_ mirrors, though."

"It interferes with the conditioning," he said, tilting his head at her.

"Wait," she mumbled, and wiped her face again. "Wait, did _you_ put _yourself_ under contract?"

"That seems to be the case." Again, he could not say for sure; he was confused about how to interpret the memory immediately prior to the activation.

 _"Shit,"_ Emily whispered, and looked over at Simms and Jericho, arguing. "I never figured out the code," she added, sticking her thumbnail in her mouth and biting on it. "This isn't fair," she whined, closing her eyes and crying silently. "It's just― _not_ _fair."_

Charon stared at Emily. He could only watch her. He did not have the power to inform her of his own discovery, the knowledge of which words would unlock him from the contract and allow him to interact with her more freely.

The contract forbade him.

And, somewhere inside of him, he did not desire for her to know.


	16. In Which Emily Lets Go

Note: Sorry this took so long. I got stumped on whose viewpoint and after that it was trying to write Gallows that unnerved me.

* * *

It was a damn shame. Irving stared out at the town, specifically watching Emily and the sheriff dealing with Jericho and the ghoul, thinking. It was a damn shame the old bastard wasn't smarter, because if he had known about the radiation and how it healed ghouls he wouldn't have thrown the rotting hulk down the hill. The ghoul had been mortally wounded, but now appeared right as rain. _Shame._

Should have just let him bleed to death on the path, and then Irving could have shot Jericho and claimed he was trying to protect the ghoul―

It was a lie, but Emily would have been too upset at the deaths to cause him trouble. He should have shot Jericho anyway. He cursed his own reluctance in action, when it came to Emily. Needed to do better than that.

Irving watched her. Crying again. She remembered that the rotting asshole had strangled her. He remembered too, when he'd pulled her helmet off―had to look her in the eyes when he told her that she was through causing trouble in Annapolis―and he saw that mess of purple and black spread across her neck. The clearly lined fingerprints across her skin, the redness of her eyes from the lack of oxygen. And the way she'd reacted―

He glared down into the center of town, at the ghoul and the old man. He was _tired_ of it. Tired of waiting for her. Tired of being there for her and nothing coming of it. He didn't even know what he _wanted_ from her, anymore. _If_ he even wanted her, after all this shit. His heart hurt far too often, his chest still tightened when he saw her―

He could ignore the pain he felt; pain was something he _knew_ how to manage.

But...he couldn't leave her, not _again._ He still felt for her. Leaving her in the hands of that ghoul who had practically destroyed her―

It didn't feel _right,_ but―it was what _she_ wanted. And Irving wanted her to have what she wanted. It was all he could do for her; couldn't protect her any longer, from everything she'd brought on herself.

Irving rubbed his eyes and breathed out. He didn't stand a chance, anymore. He would _never_ win the girl, even if he killed the ghoul and the old man. He would never have Emily for himself, even if everyone else was gone.

He shouldn't have come looking for her.

* * *

Irving made his way down to the scene, slowly. He watched the sheriff as he was formally evicting the ex-raider asshole. He watched Emily crying for the ghoul―ice-colored eyes staring at her impassively―and heard her saying that she'd never figured out the words to relax him from the contract.

He knew those words. The zombie himself had told him. Emily had been too upset when the rotting shithead left her in Annapolis, to care. Irving stared at her, his face sad. Based on what she'd said... she still wanted the bastard freed of the contract. Even after he'd throttled her, and abandoned her.

He would never understand Emily.

This was an opportunity that Irving felt he should take advantage of, however. He could... tell her the words, if she was willing to even let him talk. If he had something that important to her, she might... He groaned to himself. It wouldn't do any good to him, thinking about his desire for her.

Irving moved out of the shadows and towards Emily, ignoring the others, keeping his eyes down.

"Emily," he said, catching her attention. The last good thing he would do for her, he promised himself.

"Oh, for _the love of_ ―I don't need _your_ trouble on top of everything, Irving," she hissed, clenching her fists and glaring at him.

"I'm here to _help,_ Emily." He stared her down. "I've always been there to help. I'm... sorry I walked away from you, before, but―"

"Yeah, you _did,_ didn't you," she said, her face angry and stubborn.

"I'm here to help," he repeated. "I know how to relax the conditioning―" His words were stolen from him as the ghoul grabbed him around the throat by one hand and began to throttle him, staring down on him with those cold eyes.

Emily made a startled noise and moved forward, shouting, "Stop, Charon!" She slapped him, a hard hand right against his cheek.

The sound echoed in Irving's head as the grip was lessened. He coughed, reeling backward from the ghoul, and drew his rifle. He might be willing to give up the game to the bastard, but he wasn't about to let him attack him. _Fucking zombie―_

 _"That is it!"_ he said, when he recovered, aiming directly at the ghoul. The bastard began to pull his shotgun off his back. "I―I _will_ kill you, this time―"

"Heh," Jericho said, and both Irving and Charon turned to aim their weapons at him.

Sheriff Simms took a large step to the right, away from Jericho, and looked at Emily. "Deputy, you wanna try maintaining order?" he asked, pointedly. "I don't rightly understand what's going _on,_ here. Seems like it's all you, today."

"I'm so fucking _sick_ of this," Emily said, angrily. She looked at Jericho, her face contorted in anger, pointing at him. "Why the hell are you laughing, you bastard?!"

Jericho held up his hands. "It's funny, is all. You and your stupid fuckin' _slut_ attitude, draggin' half the goddamn _wasteland_ out here to your doorstep―and shit's goin' down, and you can't _handle_ it." He moved one hand to flip them all off, and then dropped his hands to his side. "Fuckin' _told you―"_

Emily's feet stomped heavily across the ground as she put herself into Jericho's face. _"Stop calling me a goddamn slut!"_ she shrieked, shaking all over.

The old asshole was bringing up a hand, as if to strike her. Irving's eyes narrowed at him―the ghoul tensed up, stepping forward and pulling Emily away from Jericho with a rough jerk and moving her behind him.

No more indecisiveness. Irving's rifle was already trained on the man's face. The laser beam as it impacted with one eye was vibrantly red, but not as satisfying as the splatter of blood that followed it. Once the body crumpled to the ground, he lowered the rifle and aimed the barrel at the ground, looking at the sheriff. "I'm sorry, sir."

Simms squinted at the body, then sighed. "Well... _one_ problem solved," he muttered. "Emily, what in the _hell_ is going on?! Can't say as I'll miss the old ass, but why is your ghoul here, and who the hell is _this?"_ He gestured at Irving, angrily.

Emily was standing stock still in the middle of the three of them, Charon's hand on her shoulder and her own inching up to her throat again. She blinked in surprise and turned to Simms, slowly, looking down. "Uhh," she said, still startled. _"Uhh."_

"I'll explain, if you let me," Irving said, shooting her a glance. Emily rubbed her collarbone, staring blankly at the ground. After a moment she nodded, and closed her eyes.

Simms was watching him now, and he squared his shoulders before he started speaking. "My name is Gallows," he told the sheriff. "Used to be in the Brotherhood of Steel."

The sheriff nodded. "Alright," he said. "Why are you here?"

"I followed Emily," he said, simply. "Some... trouble she caused is the reason I'm no longer with the Brotherhood. There was trouble out in Annapolis, don't know if she told you. Slavers, we took the whole operation down."

Simms glanced back at Emily and shook his head. "Girl, you stir up shit no matter _where_ you go, don't you."

Emily kept rubbing her neck and opened her eyes, staring at Jericho's body. Irving sighed. "I only came to make sure she was alright," he said. "Heard she was in a bad way."

"And the ghoul?" Simms asked, looking up at the monster.

Irving kept his eyes on Emily. "Far as I can tell, he managed to reinstate his contract. Broke it in Annapolis, and took off. Emily―"

She looked up at him sharply, pushed the ghoul's hand off her shoulder, and faced him. _"Everyone_ took off," she said, angrily. "I had nowhere to go but home, and you― _you followed me_ like an idiot! You shouldn't be _here,_ Irving!"

"You know I have nowhere to go," Irving told her. "I'm no longer a Knight Captain. I have _nothing_ left, Emily. Nothing but _you,_ and you―" He snorted. "You've been nothing but a _bitch."_

Emily's brow drew together. She looked wounded. "I don't _like_ the new you," she said, frowning. "You're―you're being rude. Even if I did screw things up, _you_ were the one who told me I should go to Annapolis―"

"I let you go because you were upset about your _ghoul,"_ he replied, testily. "To help you help him―I did _not_ expect you to _wholeheartedly murder an entire community of slavers!"_

Simms chuckled wryly, and crossed his arms. "That's our Lone Wanderer for you," he muttered.

Irving ignored the man. Kept his attention on Emily and her shaking hands, saw how agitated she was. "You caused a lot of damage," he said, lowering his tone. "I chose to take the blame... for _you._ And you've done nothing but cause me problems, Emily."

"Problems you brought on _yourself!"_ she said, scoffing. "I don't know why you're so _obsessed_ with me. You need to let me go, Irving! I don't want―I _never_ wanted you to get kicked out of the Brotherhood!" She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away, her hair bouncing on her shoulder. "And I certainly don't _need_ you to save my ass from shitheels like _Jericho―"_

"What about your ghoul?" he interrupted, staring at her with hard eyes. "You act the same damn way with _him_ as I have with you. _Obsessing._ You wouldn't let go―that's why he _left_ you, Emily." He glanced to the side at the mountain of rotten flesh. "After you freed him, and he tried to _strangle you to death!"_

Simms made a thoughtful noise. Emily's eyes widened in anger. "He didn't have a _choice!"_ she shrieked. "The conditioning―"

Irving cut her off, beginning the chorus of "This Land is Your Land". She stopped and stared at him in confusion, her face screwed up. The ghoul relaxed slightly, then strode over to Irving and grabbed him by the collar of his Brahmin-skin outfit and picked him up off the ground, growling in his face.

"You should _not_ have done that," he rasped, breathing hotly onto Irving's face. "You do not realize the importance―"

Irving glared at the ghoul. "Take your damn _prize,"_ he snapped, grabbing the monster's wrists and holding him tightly. "Be glad you won the fucking contest, asshole."

"Charon?" Emily said, and the ghoul turned his head slightly to look at her through the corner of his eye. He turned back to Irving, growled in his face, and dropped him.

"Charon, what are you _doing,"_ Emily said. She moved forward, looking down at Irving for a moment.

The ghoul took a deep breath and let it out, then shouldered his shotgun and put his hands behind his back. "Emily..." he said, turning to face her. "You should fire me."

She looked baffled. Simms moved around behind Irving, to better keep an eye on them. Irving looked up at Emily from the ground, pushing himself up and brushing off the dust.

"...What?" she said. _"What?!"_

"You should fire me," the ghoul repeated. "Reinstate the contract and send me away."

Emily started crying, soundlessly. Fat tears rolling down her face, her hands covering her mouth. "I―I _can't―"_ she mumbled, staring up at him.

"Shit," Irving said, looking away. He hadn't expected the rotten bastard to be so _contrary._ Whatever Emily would do about this, he didn't know or care. Didn't think the goddamn zombie would tell her to send him away if he'd come back looking for her, though.

"If you do not fire me, I will only cause you more pain," the ghoul rumbled. He stared at her. "You are not safe when I am around you."

Emily's mouth opened, then bobbed up and down. She covered her face, and sobbed for a minute or two, uncontrollably. Her hands lowered and she stared at the ghoul for a moment or two more, then wiped her face.

"Fine," she said, her voice strained. "If it makes everything better, then _fine._ You're _fired,_ Charon."

The ghoul smiled in a grotesque way, and turned to face the men. "I will never win the contest," he said to Irving, in a low voice. "I'm not _competing."_ He walked away, toward the gate.

Emily turned her head to watch him leave, her eyes filled with tears. Didn't say a word about anything.

Irving could only stare at her. What just _happened?_


	17. In Which it Makes Sense

Note: I'm pretty sure I'm going to end it here, mostly because I've had some trouble with personal goals related to the story. There may yet be another Emily story, but I'd like to focus on finishing other stories and maybe a few other characters before I put any more ng in angst with Emily. It did end how I anticipated, but with a little difference. (Usually on an even number, but not today.)

minor edit. whoops

* * *

Emily lowered her hands to her side and took a deep breath. Simms watched her, arms crossed over his chest, then glanced at Irving.

"Well," he said, with a final tone in his voice. "I'm not entirely sure what happened here, today. Can't say as I liked it, either, but what's done is done."

Irving nodded, and Emily glanced over at him. Why... why he'd done that―to _Charon_ ―she'd finally gotten him _back,_ and he was gone just as soon as he came―

Simms turned to Emily. "Jericho's house is empty now," he said. "You could move in, if you'd like."

She turned away, hiding her face. Irving cleared his throat and asked why.

Simms chuckled, dryly. "I've been trying to find a way to get that knuckle-dragger out of town for years," he told the man. "If I knew it was as easy as siccing you on him..." He smiled. "I ain't going to _miss_ the old asshole. The town will miss him, though. Need someone to fill his spot, defending us."

Irving nodded, and Emily breathed out, slowly. "Let Irving do it," she said, her voice dying in her throat.

"You sure about that?" Simms looked her up and down. "You weren't all that hot on staying at my place―"

"I'm not gonna be here," she said, dully. "Irving can help Megaton more than I ever did." She turned to face the sheriff. "Let him have Jericho's house. He's got years of combat experience―and if I'm not around, nothing bad will happen."

Simms stared her down. "You ain't thinking of _leaving,_ now," he started.

"I don't live here anymore," she replied, without emotion. "I have to leave."

He sighed, then nodded. "Can't stop you," he said. Emily nodded. Sheriff Simms was a good guy, but Emily―Emily was just _Emily,_ and she couldn't give him what he wanted, be his deputy and try to help Megaton. She couldn't help _anyone. Not now._

Irving was watching her. She ignored him, taking another deep breath. He was being awful to her, calling her names. Just like every other person she'd ever tried to open up to, just like every man she'd ever― _ever_ ―wanted to like, or wanted something to do with. Even _Jericho,_ though she hadn't wanted a relationship with him but wanted to get along with him, wanted him to stop being such a bastard toward her. She'd tried to change Charon, she'd tried to change Irving, she'd tried to change Jericho.

It was... it was _her._

It was all on _her,_ causing trouble.

She breathed out, shakily, her lungs screaming for air. It was _always_ her, trying to make other people do what she wanted, and never letting them be who they _were._ Charon tried to _make it okay_ for her―he knew how to be the servant, he'd lived all of his life in that kind of slavery, but she'd made him worse. Broke him free of the contract and made him question who he was, pushed him into staying with her because she couldn't bear to be alone in the wastes. She'd tried to force him to be what she wanted, when he was out of the contract. Tried to...

And Irving―she saw his eyes. He was in pain, because of _her._ He would always be in pain because of her, and she'd started him on that path―even if he'd been the one to invite her out the ruins and help her out of the hole she'd been in when she thought Charon was dead. He'd only wanted her to be happy, but he'd wanted to settle down and raise a family, her to be his wife. Maybe she might have tried for him, once, but she'd never been able to curb her own stupidity long enough to make any man truly happy. She would have ruined him one way or another.

Shouldn't have been near him, shouldn't have led him on and tempted him with kisses and half-assed teasing. Never could _get it right_ for Irving. Not until she told him off at Rivet City―

And Jericho...

Emily wiped her nose. Before she found Charon, Jericho had been the only person in Megaton who tried to be friends with her. She'd stayed the hell away from Moriarty after finding out where her dad had gone, and whatever niceness she might have had for Gob was lost. Jericho followed her around town, sometimes, egging her into conversation―and she'd known what he wanted, but she was so worried about her dad and what had happened at the Vault, she hadn't bothered with him.

It wasn't until Charon came along that she decided to do anything about Jericho. After her dad died―and she needed the comfort, someone to make the pain go away―

Emily took another deep breath. The pain only got worse, trying to run from it. Jericho got the brunt end of a big stick because she didn't want to order Charon around, make him stop. After the contract was relaxed, it had gotten so much worse. Charon was possessive of her, used her own tactics against her. He was a lot stronger than her and much better at dealing with her stupidity.

But he came back to her because he didn't know how to live without the contract, and she'd selfishly used him for her own devices. He was still a slave, no matter what she did. He would _always_ be a slave, and she couldn't ever make it okay for him.

 _Jericho..._ he was a free man, even if he was a bad man, not bound to anyone or anything. Like her, able to do what he wanted. And he'd been the perfect match for her, because he was right about her not playing games and he was right about her stupid slut attitude. She should have _listened_ to him. The lesson he'd taught her about reaping what you'd sown was one she'd needed to learn for a long time.

A lesson she felt she'd learned a little _too_ late for her benefit, and definitely too late for _his._ She didn't want to feel bad about him dying. But she _did._

Her hands shook. She didn't know what to _do._ There was nothing left, for her. She would always cause trouble, no matter where she went, like Simms said. Trouble for her dad, for Charon, for Irving, for Jericho, for Megaton and Sheriff Simms―

For _everyone._

Emily couldn't cry. There were no more tears left. Only pain.

* * *

Jenny sat her down at the counter of the Brass Lantern and tried to get her into a conversation while Simms and a settler removed Jericho's body from the town. Emily didn't talk, just stared at the counter top and tried not to think about what had happened.

"Emily," Irving said, sliding into a seat beside her. "Hey." She mumbled something. Didn't look up at him. "I'm sorry I was so rude," he told her, slowly. "I... I couldn't help it. Too much was going on, and I lost my temper."

"It's _fine,"_ she said, dismissively. "You don't have to apologize."

"I do," he said, gently. "You're upset, and I feel like shit. I'm sorry I called you names or made you feel bad."

"Whatever," she muttered. "Sorry doesn't make it okay. Won't get it right. I can't say _all is_ _well―"_ She put her chin in her hand and stared at the counter. "Jericho is dead and Charon is gone and you're―" she sighed, closing her eyes. "You're the only one left. Guess you won the _game._ Survived 'til the end."

Irving snorted. "I told you a long time ago... survival isn't something I worry about. Shit happens in the wastes, but you can't let it get to that point."

"It _did,_ though," she said, painfully. "Shit happened and everyone is worse off, for it."

"I let it happen." Irving moved a hand to her face. "I let these problems of yours get to me because I wanted you... to be _you._ Thought you were someone else, at first." He pushed her hair over her ear. "Still, every new Emily I saw was more and more what I wanted."

"Not what _I_ want," she said, opening her eyes and staring at him.

"I know." Irving sighed, lowering his hand. "Don't know what to tell you about that. No one knows how to make you happy except for _you,_ Emily."

"I don't know how," she whispered. Tears sprang into her eyes. "I don't know anything about me that's _happy―"_ She wiped her nose.

"I tried, you know," he said. "To make you happy. I just made it worse."

"You helped me," she said, sullenly. "That did... make me happy. But it didn't matter, in the end. I made it _bad_ again."

Irving didn't say anything for a long time. He lifted a hand and dropped it again. "What are you going to do?" he asked, staring at her.

She knew he still―shit, he _still_ loved her. She should have done better for him. Should have listened―to her dad, in the Vault, and stopped playing with the boys like she had. Should have listened to Charon telling her to discourage Jericho. Should have listened to Irving when he told her to let Charon go away on his own―should have stayed in the Citadel with him.

That would never happen, now. There was no happy family in the wasteland. Just bad people and monsters. ...Including _her._

"I don't know," she said, sadly. Emily put her hand on the counter. "Don't think there's anything for me _to_ do, except wander off and die."

Irving frowned. "Emily..." he said. He rubbed her shoulder through the thin fabric. "I know you. I know you're a good person, Emily." He tried to get her to look him in the eyes, but she kept her gaze lowered. "But you make other people go crazy, for some reason. Maybe... it'd be better to make the _right_ people go crazy."

"What?" She looked up at him and frowned. "The hell are you talking about."

"Maybe it would be better to make the bad sorts out there, suffer." Irving put both hands on her shoulders and looked at her. "The slavers you hate so much."

"There aren't any more in the Capital," she said, shaking her head and rubbing her eye. "I can't kill them if they don't _exist."_

He smiled. "I know where a big problem is," he said, slowly. "A stronghold up in the northwest, far from here. Had dealings with Annapolis. I didn't want to tell you before... you would have jumped up and run off, and I would've never seen you again―"

"Probably," she muttered. "Almost didn't make it out of Annapolis."

"When you had your ghoul with you, I thought you were okay. Didn't want you to go into Annapolis, but... things _changed._ Now―it's all changed again." He squeezed her shoulders gently. "If you want to go, I'll take you. But you have to stay with me, and _listen."_

"We can't―" she stopped herself. "I can't _be_ with you, Irving," she said, closing her eyes. "I'd just hurt you like I hurt everyone _else―"_

"Then _don't_ be with me. You never wanted to, anyway." His voice grew more serious. "Come with me as a _friend,_ Emily. Help me take down a slaver stronghold and maybe redeem myself in the eyes of the Brotherhood―and when you come back, you can stay here in Megaton, like you obviously want to. All these people―they _want_ you here, even if you think you're going to make trouble."

"I keep telling her that," Jenny put in. "She doesn't like to listen."

Emily shot an aggravated look at Jenny, and turned back to Irving. "Probably better than sticking around here, for now," she conceded.

"Will you come with me, then?" he asked, staring at her intensely.

"I _guess,"_ she said. "Where is this stronghold, anyway?"

Irving dropped his hands and crossed them over his chest, smiling with one half of his mouth. "They call it the Pitt," he said.

It _had_ to be better than staying in Megaton. She... she could cause trouble for slavers and not for innocent people, and Irving was immune from her attentions―not someone she would use for sex, and he wasn't having any of her silly attempts to manipulate him if he was willing to be so rude to her. He'd had just enough of her shit to know better. That was good, she thought.

"O- _kay,"_ she said, softly. "Let's go to The Pitt, Irving."


End file.
